The Tethers Between Hearts
by c1araoswa1d
Summary: On a quiet little planet, the Doctor shares something very important with Clara.
1. The Tethers Between Hearts

The darkening clouds that sat in the distance rumbled with the threat of storms, but Clara merely smirked at the thought, looking to the man beside her. He had his hands pushed deep into the pockets of plaid pants, and he was slightly slouched, relaxed in only her company as he stared out at those same clouds with a look of curiosity hidden underneath a pair of sunglasses through which she imagined he was examining so many things; the density of the molecules, the separation of space through which tore electric currents, the patterns of rain flow, the predictability of motion. The Doctor smiled calmly and he released a sigh as Clara inched into him, nudging at his elbow with her own.

"You're being quiet," she chastised lightly.

"Perhaps," he began, glancing down at her, "I'm being polite."

"Perhaps," she repeated with a giggle. "Though that's rather unlike you."

"Is it, Clara?" He gasped playfully.

She laughed, enjoying that he followed suit, looking back to the horizon as the winds picked up just a touch, blowing her hair back over her shoulder. Soon the rain would approach – she could smell it wafting through the air – and they would retreat to the safety of the Tardis, just a few feet behind them, and he would tell her something magical then. He always did. There were times it took her a while to understand the depth of the meaning behind his words, but it was always there, waiting for her discovery to ponder in epiphany.

Clara watched him as he scanned the skies, neck craning back, and she observed, "I bet you can see the stars beyond the daylight of this planet's sun with those glasses."

Without looking to her, he responded, "I'm a Time Lord, I can see the stars without the need for eyewear," then his eyes drifted to her, "Though they do help with the glare."

She chuckled, head bowing before turning her attention to the rain, now falling in sheets over the valley that spread out beyond the cliff's edge in front of them. The grey of it obscured the view of an ocean they'd seen upon arrival and Clara wondered why they'd come. He hadn't explained when she'd stepped into the Tardis, dropping her bag beside a chair on which she'd settled schoolwork, and she hadn't asked. She trusted he had a reason and she waited, wondering just what atrocity hid just beyond those storms, because it always seemed there was one.

Some civilization to save; some war to battle against; some problem to solve.

It was rare they just had a moment because they wanted a moment, and Clara let her gaze drift back up to him as he took another long breath – his mind wondering a number of clever things, she imagined – and watched the storms. They raged, growing closer, as he stood still and looked out at them, and the juxtaposition unsettled her, because she imagined there should be some story for him to tell, some important detail about what they were watching to justify their being there. Wasn't there always some tale he had to tell, some wisdom to impart, some history to divulge, or some anecdote they needed to be in this precise place to make sense.

But the Doctor remained quiet and it was unlike him, her mind repeated.

It was a simple worry beginning to build into a frown on her face she knew he noticed because he looked to her then, body turning as he stared down at her and considered her as she looked back out to the clouds, watching them shift about within their winds. A crack of lightning split the sky in five and though she felt her insides tremble alongside the thunder that rumbled the ground, she stood, defiantly steadfast. She wouldn't let him know he was worrying her, at least not just yet. She would given him the time to find the right words, as she presumed he was doing.

The Doctor nodded, Clara knew, because he could sense her trepidation. He shook his head, brow rising slightly around thoughts and then he pulled his hands from his pockets, balling them into fists before stretching them. He plucked the sunglasses off his face, holding them between his forefingers before shifting them to his right hand, secured between his thumb and ring finger, and then he turned them slowly and moved to stand before her, slipping them onto her face without a word.

He tapped at something on the side, offered some psychic command, and she heard the buzz of the Sonic activating something as she looked up into his face, watching the concentration in his eyes. He nodded as though pleased and the corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly as she waited. She imagined there was something he wanted her to see and she looked out to the rains to watch them fall in darker hues, listening to the gentle thumping of a heartbeat, seemingly amplified by the glasses.

Clara smiled as he returned to his spot at her side, then her brow creased as she counted the beats, too many for her own heart she knew, and she looked back to him to ask, "What am I hearing?"

His head tilted as he replied, "You know what you're hearing Clara."

There were four beats, as steady as the whirring of the wind through the tall grass around them, and she listened as she watched him. Of course she knew, what she didn't know was why, and the potential answers to that question worked at the double beat inside of her own chest as she considered the look of serenity on his face. He was staring into her eyes, waiting for something, some understanding, she knew, and she smiled up at him, calling over the wind and the coming storm.

"It occurred to me you've never heard a Gallifreyan's hearts before," he offered.

Clara shook her head, telling him gently, "I hear them all the time."

He seemed surprised, brow dropping slightly as Clara glanced back to the rain, growing gradually closer, trying to gauge just how much time they had on that cliff side before they had to rush back towards their blue box, its light glowing brightly behind them. Over the rush of rain and the whistle of wind and the thumping of those two hearts, she could hear the occasional bong of her Cloister bell, warning them, but Clara took a long breath, patiently standing in the threat of a torrent, because she wouldn't lose this moment. They'd already lost so many, she knew, and there was a limit to how many they'd have.

"This noise," she gestured to her right ear, "This isn't what your hearts sound like to me, Doctor – this is just blood flowing through flaps, muscles expanding and contracting, this is merely the measure of your body's rhythm."

His head toggled and she laughed, imagining him about to exclaim, "That's what a heart beat is."

So she closed the distance between them to stop his words and focus his mind on her proximity, on the feel of her fingers finding his to hold as she told him gently, "I hear your hearts in every word you say, I feel them in every worry you carry, I see them in every wrong you right, and I've known them from the very first steps we took together."

Nodding slowly, he uttered, "Poetic."

"English teacher," she teased, reveling in his soft laughter. Then she admitted, "I listen to them every morning, when you think I'm still sleeping. It's a comforting sound," Clara shrugged, feeling her cheeks go warm at those memories.

"Is that why you've developed such a fondness for cuddling?" The Doctor retorted, his knuckles reaching to nudge her hair back before his fingers curled it behind her left ear. "And here I thought I'd simply cultivated a knack for it."

Clara laughed and she leaned into him, hugging at his midsection to rest her cheek to his chest, feeling the timid rumble of his laugh against her as she stood within his solid arms. A hug he'd perfected for her, wrapped around her like a soothing blanket. She looked up at him then, grinning at the comfortable smile he wore as she listened to those beats continue softly in her mind, wondering just how long he'd listened to them before sharing them with her. Wondering just how long he'd known she needed to hear them. He bent slightly, brows rising as she shook her head.

And then he uttered gently, "Clara, those aren't my heartbeats."

On a small nod, she whispered, "I know."

Of course she'd known.

Signaling their beginning during a shower she'd spent in confusion, one hand at her chest, the other settled at a space beneath her navel, they'd been tapping and tugging at her own heart for weeks with increasing strength. Looking to the man who held her, she wondered how long they'd been knocking on his, demanding to be acknowledged, something she'd refused to do until that morning. When she finally understood those two new little hearts calling out to her belonged to her and made her something more than she ever imagined she'd get the chance to be.

Inching up on tip toe, Clara delicately pressed her lips to his, enjoying their warmth, thankful he'd grown used to her affection. They split with a shared smile and a healthy understanding. Her giggle was drowned out by the rain approaching, and they let it wash over them for a while.


	2. The Worries and the Promise

Through the mirror in the corner of her bedroom, in the fragile light of the moon filtering through her half-open window shade, the Doctor could see Clara's fingers delicately settled atop the skin of her lower abdomen, slowly drifting across the space as the corners of her mouth lifted. It's the smile of someone who'd regained a dream they hadn't known they'd given up, suddenly privy to all of its wonder in a vibrant splash of technicolor across their mind, he knew. She stood there naked, staring at her body unabashed; allowing her thoughts to ponder the life nestled inside of her with a curiosity generally reserved for their travels.

He watched her a while, eyes following the curves of her as she remained silent and still, lost in those daydreams of a child growing up in her hopeful visions. His Clara, so perfectly suited for him in every way, now carried within her the fruits of their union, and he found himself in awe of her in a whole new way; one that sent his hearts fluttering happily inside of his chest and turned his stomach with the tickle of fabled butterflies as he let himself absorb the moment. His Clara, his impossible Clara, looking to her belly as she cradled the smooth flesh there, eager to see it stretch before her, counting away the days until the child in her womb lay calmly in her arms.

On a closing of his eyes, he questioned whether they would be so still.

Limbs relaxing, he envisioned a chubby infant with a dusting of brown hair and overly inquisitive eyes that stared at him in contemplation. The Doctor took a long breath because he could clearly see that tiny human smiling up at him, pleased at the sight of his father's ridiculous face, doused in the red and blue pulses of the Tardis console room's lights. He looked back at Clara, hearts warmed at that new memory he'd created for himself, questioning whether it were merely a thought, or a future moment wandering back to him.

"Clara, come back to bed," he called softly, watching her hands land flush against her midsection. Her head bowed to look at the space before she turned to glance at him, smirk evident even in the darkness, and then she casually made her way towards him, climbing back underneath the thick sheets to settle into the spot at his side, resting her head against his arm to grin up at him.

She sighed then, adoration ever present in her eyes, asking, "Do you ever wonder what the universe has planned for us?"

On a laugh, the Doctor admitted, "All the time."

He listened to her giggle before she questioned, "Do you wonder whether this was part of the plan, or whether we simply rejected its vision so strongly, we created a life out of that obstinacy?"

The Doctor sighed and he looked her over slowly, watching her eyes and how they stared back at him lazily, fighting off exhaustion from her life and their travels to remain awake with him. He wondered what had awoken her, lifted her out of bed to glance at herself in that mirror. Had she dreamt of the child she carried; had she seen them in her mind so clearly it had startled her from her slumber to gaze at herself in the way that she had – as though she could see beyond time to their son or daughter's face. He smiled, lifting the sheets from her body and folding them just beneath her hips.

Hand hovering over her abdomen, he sighed before slowly lowering his flesh to touch hers, feeling that little tickle in his stomach before the tug he felt at his hearts. His child welcomed his caress, they craved it; a thought that both terrified him and soothed him. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the warmth of Clara's skin, the flow of blood that had increased throughout her body; he searched out the quicker beats of her heart that tired her out more readily; he felt for the minute swell of fluid in her uterus, accommodating the life growing within it.

And he laughed.

"This is not a rejection of vision, Clara," he breathed, "This is a vision brought to fruition in spite of our carefully laid plans and intentions." Thumb stroking at her flesh, he breathed, "This is the determination of a soul demanding to be born of us."

Her hand landing delicately atop his, Clara agreed with a nod before admitting, "I'm scared of that."

"What frightens you, Clara?" He prompted softly with a peck of his lips to her temple. "Tell me."

Her chuckle shook slightly and he frowned, feeling her fingers slide back and forth over the groves between his as she considered the question and the correct answer to it. As though she'd thought on it already for a time and remained conflicted, he knew. He watched the slow breaths she took and the way her eyelids drooped and he was tempted to tell her to rest. Rest, he wanted to say, and in the morning they could discuss it over breakfast someplace nice.

"We were brought together, I was given your number," she began quietly, almost inaudibly, "There was a purpose, and maybe it went beyond what Missy thought, or knew – not knowing if it were for good, or bad..."

He interrupted swiftly, "Clara, a child is never born with nefarious purposes."

"No," she argued, "But circumstances can turn a child as they grow older..."

"You fear that," he stated, "That this is a child who'll be used for evil."

Her head shook slightly. "Davros was just a frightened child on a war-torn planet and look who he became because of that fight," she reminded. "Our child would grow up in your life, Doctor."

The Doctor nodded shortly, point taken and stabbed deeply into his hearts, and then he watched her as she looked down at her stomach, hand carefully pressing his aside to curl hers around her belly with a shrug. He understood her fear well, and he offered quietly, "They don't have to grow up in my life."

Her laugh came easily just before she acknowledged, "Since I know you won't give up this life, I presume you mean I could leave you and raised this child on my own."

Meeting her eyes, he remained solemn, and he watched the amusement leave hers in a snap of understanding as she pushed herself to sit up, giving his pale shoulder a shove. He knew she'd seen the potential for the option in his gaze, but he doubted she comprehended the extent of his thoughts. Of course she couldn't, she still operated within a realm of relative safety. She still had those ties to her Earthly home that granted her the comforts of humanity; she still had that confidence in him that gave her a false sense of security during their adventures.

"I only exude the appearance of control, Clara," he admitted. "I cannot assure our child would grow up to be good or evil, or that they would even grow up at all." And to her frown, he added, "You know as well as I do how dangerous our life can be, and we've been fortunate luck has spared us this far."

Clara grunted, "Luck has had little to do with it."

"Hasn't it?" He prompted.

She shook her head and argued, "No, it has all to do with our abilities." And then she asked softly, after a moment of dreadful silence, "Do you want me to go?" And then she followed the question with a quieter, "Do you want me to stay... and end the pregnancy?"

Bowing his head with a huff, he shook it and then pulled himself up to sit beside her, looking to his hands laid atop his lap as he opened them to stare down at his palms. "Look at these hands," he stated. "Hands that have literally and figuratively held more lives in my two thousand years than I'd care to admit, and not all of them survived their hold." Raising his eyes to Clara's, he told her, "I am afraid of exactly the same things you are. Will I be able to keep you safe when you're most vulnerable? Will I be able to keep them safe once they're born? And if I manage that miracle – will I be a good partner for you as you age; will I be a good father to them as they do? Will I guide them to a future worth saving or will I lead them down a destructive path that sets us as enemies long after you're gone." His head shook woefully and he felt his chest constrict. "The thought had crossed my mind that as difficult and painful as it would be to let you go, you'd both be safer on Earth."

Eyes closing as he let his shoulders slump, the Doctor listened to her measured breaths and he smiled because she didn't have a response to his worry and he knew that unnerved her. Or perhaps she knew as well as he did that there was little that could alleviate the fears they held because they weren't the fears of majestic time travelers, they were the fears of two people who had created a new life and were terrified of what the time ahead of them held for that life.

They were the simple fears of _parents_.

Her hand slipped into his and she lifted it to kiss at his knuckles before dropping that hand to lay against her stomach again, holding it there before allowing, "I know you can sense them in a way that I can't." She inched closer to him to ask, "What do they feel, Doctor?"

His mind went red with a warmth that melted its way over his body, and he sighed, "Tranquility."

Clara looked to his fingers, splayed out over her skin, and she told him softly, "I've seen him in a dream, I think," her brow dropped curiously as she smiled, "He has your eyes, bright and never-ending. He has your smile, hesitant and restrained, but beautiful when he gives it fully. And he has your hands. I felt them in my own, tugging me towards him." She sighed, and then giggled, "He smells of jam, and a little of smoke, and hugs fiercely."

Lightly laughing at the confirmation, the Doctor explained, "He would be creating a light telepathic bond to you, showing himself the best way he knows how – with a little _time_."

Shifting back down underneath the sheets, Clara rested her head to the pillow and trained her eyes on him, waiting for him to join her, wrapping his arms around her to hold her close to him. He could still sense their child's serenity washing over him like a soothing tide and it comforted him in a way, as he imagined seeing their son's face offered her a small reassurance.

"What we fear," he whispered to her, looking to the dark hair he stroked lightly, "They're normal fears, Clara." She smirked knowingly, "Will I be a good parent? Will I raise a good child? And I believe it's supposed to be frightening, isn't it? How else will we be everything he needs without the fear that we won't be?"

His hand settled atop her abdomen as she smiled and slowly closed her eyes.


	3. Ginger Tea and Jam

For a while, she thought she might avoid the curse of morning sickness. Clara imagined that maybe the hybrid she carried would offer her a reprieve from the most known of the maladies of pregnancy, but then it came, slowly on a morning she'd initially heralded as the beginning of her third month. She swallowed roughly at the start of class and reached for a bottle of water settled on her desk, looking out into the concerned eyes of a room full of students and she carefully continued through the next few hours of nausea with little sips and awkward pauses.

"Sorry," she'd told them, "Not feeling well today."

Of course there were whispers by the time they broke for lunch, and she fell into her desk to pluck a bag free from her drawer to rummage through it for a sandwich, staring down at it as she chewed the first forced bite. Of course she'd be the talk of the school the next morning when she didn't manage herself as well and lost her breakfast in a bin ten pages into Hamlet. Of course she'd be visited by the Headmaster by week's end with questions about her health and his concern for the students.

At which point she'd had to sheepishly admit, "I'm pregnant."

Waking to the sound of drapes being yanked aside harshly on the weekend, Clara winced at the sunlight beaming in at her and she looked to the silhouette of the man who stood there, his poof of hair like a glowing halo around his head. For a moment, she felt just fine and she smiled as she took a long breath, stretching beneath the comfort of her sheets and groaning with the effort. She sat up and gave the Doctor a goofy grin, watching him shift out of the light to sit at the edge of the bed to smirk at her as he looked her over and offered a sigh.

She still wasn't used to that shift in his behavior. That little bit of wonder now ever-present in his eyes for her and the way its spark brightened as he looked over her stomach, patiently awaiting the day he could see her growth. Clara grinned because she imagined he could already see what she couldn't, his Gallifreyan genetics and his Time Lord senses could measure the minute expanse of her body and the almost imperceptible way it would affect the flow of her garments over her skin and she was momentarily jealous of the abilities he had. How he might bond with their son in a way she simply couldn't; how he would run away with him long after she was gone...

"Good morning, Clara," he breathed.

And that's when it stirred in her stomach. That twinge of sickness that made her take a long breath and swallow, understanding it was just something she would have to live with for a while. Hopefully, she thought to herself, not too long, but she couldn't be certain – no one ever really could be about things of this nature – and she imagined, with the fact that the baby she carried was a mutation in a sense, there was no telling how it would make her feel as she progressed.

Frowning, she shook her head and slowly lowered herself back into the bed, curling on her side to face him as he bent towards her in empathy, her name already softly warming his lips. "Doctor," she began quietly, voice hoarse, "Would you mind fetching me a glass of water and some toast?"

She watched understanding slowly creep over his face before he leaned in to kiss her forehead, lips lingering a moment too long before he stood and moved out of her bedroom. It was a little better when she laid down, and she tried not to think about it as she listened to his tinkering in her kitchen, waiting for the moment he would rush into his Tardis for some otherworldly remedy; she thought she'd heard the Tardis door creek open and shut... but there came the whistle of her kettle, and the crinkle of a wrapper and she closed her eyes, turning over and concentrating on the smell he left in the sheets on the right side of her bed from nights he'd remained there to watch her sleep.

"Clara," he breathed.

Her eyes blinked open and she turned to look at him. The Doctor had removed his coat and stood beside her bed with a steaming mug and a small plate and he settled both on the nightstand beside her, clicking on the gentle light of that lamp before drawing the shades closed again, turning to offer her a satisfied nod of his head before he gripped at his waist and then nervously wrapped his hands once, pointing to her and then the items he brought.

"Get something in your stomach, it'll be good for you both," he informed her.

Pulling herself up with a groan, and feeling somewhat guilty because she had asked him to bring her the items in question, she looked to the table and stated, "Not water and toast."

"No," the Doctor gasped, "Much better, and it will actually help."

She frowned, then reached for the mug to hold in her palms, momentarily sighing at the warmth against her skin before taking a long sip. Then she glanced back at the crackers, smeared with a golden jam, hesitantly taking one to bite into tentatively before asking, "Ginger?"

Sitting carefully at the edge of the bed, the Doctor pointed and informed her, "In the tea as well, it should do wonders for the nausea."

Patting his usual spot on the bed beside her, Clara waited for him to round it to settle himself at her side, his hands clasped in his lap as he pushed his lips together and raised his eyebrows comically. She giggled lightly as she popped the rest of the cracker into her mouth, thinking about how ridiculous it was that she was having the baby of a two-thousand-year old alien. With a pang of anxiety, she glanced down at herself, thinking about how ridiculous it was that she was having a baby at all. As much as she'd thought she'd wanted it growing up, and as ready as she thought she'd be, every time she thought too much on it, she panicked.

And she wished she had her mother to assure her it would be alright.

"Doctor," she sighed. "Do you think I'll make a good mum?"

"No," he shot, earning him a quick lift of her eyes to his as he toggled his head in consideration. "No, I won't answer that, Clara. People worry too much about what they can't control and they can't fathom that there are things in this universe – through all of time – that we simply can't prepare for. Parenthood is one of those unpredictable things." He swung a hand through the air as he spoke, "Will you be a good mum; will I be a good father. No. Yes. Possibly. It's not a question either of us can answer with any measure of certainty."

Clara groaned before sipping at her tea, "You're not being very reassuring."

"Clara, you want an assurance no one can offer honestly, but what I can say, honestly, is that you're going to try your very best," he chuckled to himself, chin dropping into his chest before he nodded, "And I will try my very best."

Nibbling on another cracker, she then asked sheepishly, "Tell me you're as frightened as I am."

He looked to her solemnly and told her, "I'm as frightened as you are."

She thought his admission would make her feel better about the nerves that shot occasional cold spells over her body, but instead, she turned away, feeling ashamed. Shouldn't impending parenthood make one excited and happy, and not fill them with dread? Or was it mothering the child of a Time Lord that instilled such fear in her heart? Clara pushed another cracker into her mouth and mulled it over as she chewed, listening to the Doctor sigh as he shifted himself to lean into the bars behind them, plucking up a pillow to ease behind his head and Clara looked to her tea, taking a long breath.

After a moment, the Doctor's hand landed softly against her back, rubbing gently as he told her, "It's perfectly alright to be afraid, Clara – you do understand that."

She smiled up at him, nodding, then shaking her head before admitting, "I guess I thought – or I guess I thought growing up – that having my first baby would be this magical thing. I'd find out I was pregnant and I'd spend the next nine months skipping about buying things, preparing, cooing with others over scans and all of the silly plans I would make for the baby's arrival and their life and instead I'm just sick to my stomach and terrified everything will go wrong." She shrugged. "It wasn't how I imagined it is all."

"Are you happy to be having this child?" He questioned evenly.

Clara chuckled, left hand falling to touch at her stomach as she answered quietly, "Yes." She glanced to him and saw the apprehension easily in his eyes as he looked to her. Wondering, she knew, if she would feel differently were it some other man at her side.

Some _human_ man.

Clara set the mug down and she inched into the Doctor, leaning her head into his shoulder as his arm wrapped around her, "Yes, Doctor, I am happy to be having _your_ child – my fear's got nothing to do with _you_." She held him tightly, telling him quietly, "You make everything better."

He scoffed and they laughed softly, huddled together on her bed. Clara listened to the closer of his heartbeats, calmly thumping away against her ear and she imagined the day she could lay her ear to the chest of their son and hear the double beat of his own hearts as he played with her hair. She smiled then, the tension melting away from her, and with it went the nausea.


	4. Our Stars in Space

It sat there now, just at the line of her knickers, the faintest of rises in her flesh that couldn't be explained away by too much food or an excess of water, but a small cluster of millions upon millions of cells continually multiplying within her, just beginning to reach out into her womb with a miniature set of newly grown fingers and toes. Clara paced calmly down one of the long corridors of the Tardis, warm mug of tea in her left hand, book held open in her right, and she stared down at the image on the page before glancing down at her stomach.

"Everything's starting to work together now, isn't it," she offered, using the book to hold down the material of her nightgown to see that little bump that made her heart flutter and her lips lift. "That's why mummy's so tired," she sighed before adding, "And yet cannot sleep."

The Tardis warbled softly and Clara shrugged, continuing her walk, listening to the soft taps of her slippers as she went, another sip of tea warming her throat as she brought the book up again, shaking her hair back and nodding at the information. She'd read the chapter three times and knew she was retaining nothing, but it was better than lying in a bed staring at the ceiling except that's what she found herself doing an hour later, when her legs ached from walking and her feet throbbed angrily from too much time in shoes with little support, a sentiment echoed by her lower back.

"Mummy is exhausted," Clara breathed, and yet she stared.

"Mummy," the Doctor stated, earning him a small smile, "Should try closing her eyes and not pacing about the Tardis at her two in the morning."

The bed groaned under his weight and he lifted her left foot into his hands, rubbing at it with increasing pressure before sliding his fingers repeatedly up her calf as she offered, "I've tried; I just lay here." Then she questioned, "Is that a thing with Gallifreyan pregnancies? Because I don't think it is with humans."

Laughing softly, the Doctor told her, "No, I think it's very distinctly a Clara thing."

She moaned and the Doctor shifted to her right foot. "I am tired, all day long. This baby is simultaneously making me starved for food and making me sick at even the smell of it, and anything I keep down he takes to grow and I'm glad for that, but at the same time, I'd really love to get some sleep in before he does start stretching out and making me uncomfortable at all hours." She grumbled, "I bet he has your long legs and uses my ribs like a xylophone."

Kissing her toes, the Doctor chuckled and then settled her foot back onto the bed, responding, "Tell me again how he's coming along?"

She grinned at him, "You know all too well."

The Doctor smirked and then offered, "But I like to hear you tell it."

Bringing her hands down atop her lower abdomen, she couldn't help the smile that overtook her as she explained quietly, thinking back on the app on her phone, "At twelve weeks, he'd be about two inches long, he'd weigh only about half an ounce, and his reflexes will have started working." She giggled, "He can curl his fingers and toes and move his mouth and he doesn't quite look like an alien anymore, but like me," she glanced at the Doctor, "And you."

Eyes widening, the Doctor teased, "But Clara, I am an alien."

She laughed aloud, and then slowly lifted up on her knees to hold his shoulders and kiss him lightly, telling him seductively, "My handsome alien."

Ducking his head, he seemed amused and Clara took pleasure in seeing that emotion on him – knowing how much joy he could experience and how much of it came from her presence and the existence of their son. So many things had changed in such a short period of time, she'd almost forgotten how difficult it used to be to coax a simply grin out of him, and there he sat, lips spread in a smile so bright she could see the tip of his tongue touching his bottom lip just as he raised his eyes to train them on hers, his left hand finding a comfortable spot at her hip.

"It would be unfortunate if our son inherited this face," he scoffed lightly.

Clara traced his jaw with her palm and then she held his cheek, nodding into him to allow, "I happen to love this face."

"Then he would find fortune in that," he whispered.

She sighed, hating his insecurities, wishing he could see their son the way she had – knowing in that moment that he still hadn't. Because if he had gotten just a simple glimpse at that growing life, he would see just how beautiful their little boy would be when he arrived. The Doctor would see himself as she saw him, so absolutely stunning.

Kissing his forehead, she sighed, "I need sleep."

His grip on her side tightened a moment as he breathed, "You need to be tired out properly."

Clara offered a devious laugh, curling her leg over his to land in his lap as she rounded her arms to his shoulders and growled, "Do I?"

His finger snapped and he looked to her, animatedly exclaiming, "Risorum!" She repeated the name, staring blankly at him as his smile widened, "Flower gardens and mazes of hedges and we could walk until you've simply exhausted yourself into a stupor."

Head bowing slightly, she laughed, "Yes, that is exactly what I need, Doctor."

His lips were warm on her forehead, just before he allowed, "I sense sarcasm. What have I said wrong?"

On a sigh, she looked to him again and shook her head, telling him plainly, "Could we watch the stars instead? Or something else that doesn't require walking? There has to be another way to put me in a _stupor_ so I can sleep."

The Doctor's eyebrows rose in understanding and he nodded, hands coming up to touch a finger to each of her temples as she began to ask a question, stopping short when her vision went dark. She called his name, voice shaky with a twinge of fear and he breathed warmly against her lips, "Relax, Clara."

Closing her eyes, she tried to match his exhales as her hands slid over his chest and dropped to hold his jumper at his sides. And then she saw a small blink of light. It blinked and it blinked and she furrowed her brow and then it burst and she felt his fingertips tighten their grip as she instinctually jerked back. Clara watched the particles of that light blast out into the darkness in a rush of lines, and then their trails slowed, swirling and twinkling, occasionally coming together and drifting apart, like a Van Gogh come to life in her mind. She laughed lightly and she felt herself shifting, guided by the Doctor, back onto the bed.

"Are these the stars?" She questioned. "The start of everything," she added.

"Yes, Clara," the Doctor responded softly.

" _Mummy, stars_!" It was a small voice that vibrated through their connected thoughts; through the Doctor's memory of the birth of the universe he was trying to share with her. One that was simultaneously strange and yet entirely familiar, and Clara felt her heart thump as the voice called out again to her before giggling and shouting deviously, " _Daddy made stars for us, mummy_!"

They listened to that tiny laughter and Clara could hear the Doctor's tears mingling into his own breathless laughs as he reveled in their son's squeals and giggles. And they both knew it was him, delighted so entirely by his father's memory, shared through that unearthly bond he'd tethered to his mother. The Doctor continued to search out his memories for the brightest stars and the most wondrous clusters of space gas and planets, listening in awe to the littlest of gasps and the continual joy it inspired in his son until all of their minds were exhausted from the effort.

Clara woke hours later, refreshed in a way she hadn't felt in days. Her body was still warm and her mind was still tingling soothingly from becoming conduit between father and son and she glanced down at the fluff of hair just at her abdomen attached to the snoring man. She laughed lightly, fingers drifting over that hair, not wanting to wake him just yet.


	5. The Valley in the Shadow

Everything was exactly as the Doctor imagined it would be when he made the reservations. They were seated on a private deck overlooking the vast colorful gardens and waterfalls that spread out through the valley beneath them; a soft breeze, just enough to cool them while leaving the tiny candles at the center of their table undisturbed, fluttered over them. He smiled up at Clara, watching her as she took in the scenery to her left. The sun of this planet sat just high enough in the sky for them to appreciate daylight for a few more hours as they enjoyed dinner, and the Doctor knew it would be a good one.

"I'm surprised you didn't want to walk through that to get here," she teased, pointer finger of her left hand gesturing out as she looked at him across the table.

Her bare shoulders were glowing in that sunlight and he sighed at the breadth of her smile as she leaned back in her chair, utterly relaxed after a long day's work. The Doctor could see the exhaustion that had been plaguing her recently had faded away and she giggled with a twinkle in her eyes just before glancing down for just a quick moment, one hand disappearing behind the table. He knew where it landed, just underneath the small bump of her belly, to cradle their son with the thought in her mind he knew all too well: they would bring him here one day and they would walk through that valley with him.

To explore the spectacle of flowers from the safety of the arms of his mother.

To wade in pools at the edges of waterfalls under the watchful eyes of his father.

The Doctor told her quietly, "I want it to be a surprise for you both, when he's old enough." Because he'd seen it all before and he knew very well how much they would enjoy the trip.

Clara smiled knowingly at him and began an easy chatter about school as waiters brought them the purest water in the galaxy and the finest bread baked with the fruits and nuts picked fresh from the valley their gaze often wandered towards. He half listened, all the while watching the way her face lit up as she spoke, or how her hair shifted over her shoulders as she shrugged and gestured with her entire body, or how her bosom rose on a long breath when she finally finished, reaching for her glass to take a sip.

"Sounds like an exciting day," he offered, chuckling softly.

"Nothing like yours, I imagine." Then she nodded, "What did you do while I was away?"

He smiled. "Wandered about aimlessly, as I always do without you."

Clara laughed lightly, looking back out over the valley as the skies began to go purple and the clouds began to shine a brilliant pink. There was a thought occupying her mind and he waited it out, smiling at the way her brow dropped and her lips lifted, some confused amusement he didn't question aloud. Were her thoughts on this place, awaiting a history lesson he'd yet to offer; were her thoughts on him and why he'd brought her here; were her thoughts on her day and the concerns of school children; were her thoughts on the fetus in her womb. He supposed it was a little bit of it all, and he ducked his head to smile at the notion.

The complexities of Clara Oswald.

"A steam engine without an outlet explodes," he teased.

Her eyes drifted to him and he watched her smile before she offered, "I was just wondering, all of this travelling we do – how safe it all is."

Nodding, the Doctor replied, "It's not safe at all – you've known that since day one."

Her hands landed atop her abdomen, an abdomen that pressed the fabric of her dress out conspicuously now at four months of pregnancy as she sighed, "For him."

Their plates arrived, salads and this planet's version of wild rice and filet of some fish, and they stared at one another as the alien with the purple face decorated in scales turned and left, and the Doctor admitted, "It's not safe at all."

Clara lifted her fork and looked to the food, head tilting as she considered it. Considered it, he knew, for the umpteenth time that day, and possibly quite more often than usual in the past few months. He poked at his own plate, the concern thickening the air between them as they avoided the conversation for just a little longer to fill their stomachs as their minds wandered.

Of course he'd thought about it. The Doctor knew all the dangers of time travel; the dangers of civilizations of all kinds and in all times, even those at peace who thought they knew so much their arrogance brought their downfalls. He'd always told himself the people on the journey with him were old enough, by their species' standards, to choose whether to heighten the chance of danger in their life, because even the most mundane lives were wrought with hidden dangers. But he looked to Clara, slowly making her way through the items on her plate, one hand settled comfortably at her stomach, and he understood she was making this choice for someone too young to decide for themselves – someone who would be too young for so many years – and he frowned.

Because, in actuality, he was making the choice alongside her.

Willingly, and quite possibly, selfishly.

"The travelling," he began quietly, seeing Clara's eyes lift to look at him as he stared at the candles between them, "The travelling isn't the most dangerous part of his life, Clara." He continued after a moment's pause to listen to his heartbeats quicken, "The most dangerous part of his life is the fact that I took part in creating it." He looked to her, grin tight on his face, gesturing at her with a half-folded hand, "He's my child, and he'll always be my child, and being the child of the Doctor, that carries with it a danger second only to being _The Doctor_ himself."

They stared at one another in silence, and the Doctor wondered what she was thinking, dark eyes focused in contemplation of his words. Were there ever second thoughts in her mind over the decision to travel with him, or her unrelenting decision to travel with him beyond regeneration? Were there second thoughts about their relationship and how they'd carried it on to the next step; were there second thoughts about her pregnancy – had there ever been? He'd never chanced to discuss any of it with her, simply accepted her decisions with continual sighs of relief.

Now he wondered.

Had she to do it all over again, would Clara Oswald make the same choices. The Doctor knew there were plenty of things over the course of his lifetime he would take back and do differently had he the chance, knowing what he knew now. There were people and places and events he would have avoided, and others he would have run to, to change the outcomes of lifetimes, but would he sacrifice his time with the woman across with him to save her the pain she'd endured, or to save their son the pain he might see in his future?

He wondered.

Clara leaned back into her chair and she let out the smallest of laughs before sighing, "You're seriously giving this thought?"

"You implied we should," he scoffed.

Shaking her head, she explained, "You asked what I was thinking and I told you the truth: I was wondering about the safety of travel, I've always had it in the back of my mind, being mortal," she waved a hand, "Unlike yourself."

"I'm mortal, Clara," he reminded with a smile.

She smirked, "You're different – our son will be different."

"You worry for yourself then?" He pressed, hands clasping together tightly atop the table as he shifted into it, watching her take a long breath, an annoyed breath, he knew from experience.

Picking up her glass to sip water before setting it down, she looked back out at the valley and exhaled as the wind played over her hair. "Doctor," she began sternly, "I worry about _you_."

"Me," he laughed.

But Clara turned and her frown was evident as she glanced to her belly before meeting his stare. "The lengths you would go to, protecting us. Said yourself, your son would always have your name hanging over his head, and I know that means I would as well." She smiled knowingly when he blushed. "I worry about you," she repeated, hand extending across the table to wait for his to fold into hers, to hold her hand tenderly as they momentarily closed their eyes at the warmth of that embrace.


	6. A Special Kind of Magic

Rounding the Tardis console with a giggle, Clara looked to the man across from her as his head bowed on a laugh, his hands settling atop the controls to glance back up from underneath those bushy brows of his. There was a mischievous look there in those eyes she thought as she slowly came to a stop, fingertips of her right hand brushing up the length of a lever before her hand closed around it, awaiting the point from him to lower it roughly, sending them into a lurch. Through the time vortex, she knew, and she looked up at the spinning top, incapable of keeping herself from letting out a small scream of excitement.

She didn't know where they were going, but she felt the Doctor's hand slip around her waist as he came to stand behind her, molding himself to her backside and pressing a delicate kiss at the side of her neck. It surprised her sometimes, how affectionate he could be, and always when she least expected it. The Tardis swayed to a lull as he held her, lips working their way up to her jaw line before nibbling at her ear just enough to raise her temperature as she turned within his embrace. Clara pressed herself into the edge of the console and sighing up at him as he stared down at her, eyes roaming as his hands gripped into her sides.

"We came all this way for you to get naughty?" She teased.

"Edge of the universe, end of time, far away from prying eyes and interruptions," he explained hotly.

Clara smiled, head tilting as she questioned, "What's gotten into you?"

Releasing a soft chuckle, he admitted, "I find you particularly attractive in the moment."

"Just the moment," she scoffed.

Nodding once, he looked to his right before meeting her amused look to reply, "As well as countless others, but yes, at this very moment, yes." His hands kneaded at her sides and then shifted over her hips, pulling her closer to press his lips to hers before he slipped back again, grinning idiotically, because he could feel the swell of her stomach now, flush against him and it was that one new curve in her body that had seduced him unexpectedly as she'd entered the Tardis.

Her giggle gave him gooseflesh and he kissed her to silence her, inhaling the floral scent of her perfume as she held tight to his jumper, moaning in response to his hands slowly lifting the hem of her pumpkin colored sundress as her fingers dropped to his trousers. With a sigh, the Doctor inched back to look at her, grinning calmly as she undid the buttons there, sliding the zipper down as he held the bunches of fabric tightly in his hand. It was a moment like this, only a few months ago, that changed the universe. Pulling the dress over her head, he looked to the growing bump of her stomach; the tidal wave he knew would roll out over the rest of their lives.

Fingers tugged at the waistband of his pants and he shook his head slightly, exhaling when she relieved him of the material and wrapped a warm hand around him. He bowed into her shoulder, delicately pecking his lips to the skin there, slipping her knickers down over her knees and replacing his hands at her sides as she let them drop off her legs. He smiled when she released him, satisfied with her handiwork, and he lifted his head to look down at her again.

"Hardly seems fair," he teased with a shrug, just before stripping himself of his jumper and shirt, eyes closing when her palms found his two heartbeats and then lazily trailed over his chest, thumbs occasionally caressing his flesh, to settle at his waist.

This regeneration wasn't the most attractive by human standards, he knew. His body was pale and soft and thin, frail even, and yet Clara looked upon him with such adoration. There was no way she could know how it soothed his soul that she accepted him exactly as he was and he smiled when she rested her cheek to his chest, arms curling around him in a tight hug. Her knees parted as he inched into her, gliding easily into her warmth and holding her to him, still and entirely satisfied in that embrace. A feeling he knew she shared because theirs had never been a relationship of sexual desires and escapades, but of strengthening bonds and deep comfort. Of unconditional love, the Doctor would say, that could build up a universe, or destroy it.

Perhaps, he considered, a bit of both.

Her cheek turned and she kissed at his collar, nudging at his jaw for his attention, which he readily gave, touching his nose to hers and listening to the small laugh she breathed. His body moved on instinct then, hands dropping to pull her closer to that edge, careful to keep her safe as he began a slow rhythm into her, knowing exactly where to please her and how long it would take and how her voice quivered as she called his name when she reached her climax.

He felt his body tense and then release on a soft grunt and he stilled his movements, concentrating on the steady pulse of her muscles around him. Eyes closed, he rested his chin atop her head as she kissed his chest and took several long breaths, arms finding a good hold on him. The Doctor opened his mouth, releasing a long breath as the warmth of her belly expanded along his with each inhale and he smiled, thinking on that baby's growth. The little limbs strengthening; the little mind beginning to work; the little beats of those two miniature hearts.

"In five months, we'll have a child," he breathed into the silence.

She laughed lightly.

"I can feel him now in a way I couldn't before," he began, inching back to see the smile in her eyes just before he looked to her flesh, "Reaching out as his cells multiply, and his mind, Clara, his developing mind is absolutely astonishing."

Hands slipping off his back, she brought them to the small bump and nodded, telling him, "We haven't really talked about that much, Doctor, how different this pregnancy will be... because of you." Then she asked timidly, "How different will it be?"

"How different he will be, you mean," the Doctor prompted.

Clara shrugged. "I can..." she began quietly, considerately, before admitting, "I can feel him, like you said. And I know mothers feel a bond with their children, feel _connected_ to them, but this is different. I know this is different. I _feel_ him. I can sense him moving; I can sense him growing. I know where he is, I know when he's hungry, I know when he's dreaming – and he _dreams_ , Doctor. He dreams of places we've been because he feels me too. He _knows_ me. When I'm scared or angry or happy or loved. He sees me through my memories." She smiled as she looked back to him, "He loves me; I can feel that."

The Doctor touched her hands, slipped his underneath hers and he closed his eyes to feel the echoes of those hearts beating within her, all three of them connected and pumping away in tandem. "It will be different in a way that human mothers would envy, Clara – it will be a bond unlike anything you've ever experienced. It will be different, and he will be different, and ultimately you will be as well." He opened his eyes to see the serenity in hers, fully trusting his words. "Not all Gallifreyan mothers bond with their unborn this way. This is a magic humans might call true love, the truest ever made and you'll both be blessed for it the rest of your lives."

"He loves you too," she declared. "He sees your face in my memories; hears the words you whisper to him that I can't understand and those words bring him joy," she laughed. "He knows you're his father and I can feel the love he has for you."

Kissing her forehead, he could feel the tears wetting his eyes at the thought. He knew it was possible, just as he'd known the bond Clara might share with their child was possible in spite of the differences in their genetics, but knowing was a relief. He pulled her into a tight hug, relishing the feel of the small bulge between them, and listening to Clara's quiet laughter, knowing she was experiencing it again, that tiny tug her son's hearts gave hers.

Their unborn son was just underneath her navel, floating calmly as close as he could to his father. His thin arms waved slightly and his left pinkie shifted back and forth along the first wall between them. His hearts drummed the hybrid blood of his parents through his veins and back again and his mind wandered over the smiles of the woman who carried him while listening to the voice of the man he'd one day call Father. And he reached between the two, tying their minds together in the tranquility those memories brought him.

"I feel him too, Clara," the Doctor whispered, "And he knows he is loved."


	7. A Thousand and Counting

He was holding the scan, finger tracing over his son's round head, down his forehead and over the smallest of noses he knew he'd inherited from his mother. He was smiling, listening to Clara's singing coming from another room, completely out of tune with the music pumping out of her open laptop as she marked her student's papers and entered their grades onto some program he never asked about. He was content, two fingers lightly laid atop the small body he'd been staring at for an hour.

Their little boy, documented for the first time.

The Doctor stood when the knocks on the door came, and he heard her rushing footsteps come down the hallway before watching her sprint towards that door, opening it widely to accept the welcoming hug her father bent to offer. She laughed and then shifted aside to usher the man in as the Doctor scratched awkwardly behind his ear, scan still held firmly between his fingers.

"Came as soon as I could," Dave breathed, looking between the two other occupants in the small living room. "No questions, as requested, but Clara..."

Clara gestured towards her couch, nodding to order, "Sit, you're going to need to sit, dad."

The man raised an eyebrow curiously, but then dropped into the couch with a wary smile as he continued to look between them, watching as they switched places so Clara could take a seat beside him. His pulse, the Doctor noticed, had increased, and his flesh had gone an interesting shade of pale, but he waited patiently.

"Everything alright, sweetie?" He questioned.

Nodding slowly, she couldn't stop the giggle that escaped before she assured, "Yeah, dad, everything's fine."

His hands rubbed at his knees and then he lifted them along with his shoulders, "Well, don't keep me here in suspense, Clara."

"You've met the Doctor," she began softly, gesturing up at him as he watched Dave nod.

"Unconventional boyfriend with the same odd name as the last unconventional boyfriend," he challenged lightly before smiling and telling Clara, "Yeah, we've met."

"Ok, then don't," Clara started before taking a breath to finish, "Don't say anything until you've fully processed this." He began a word, but Clara interjected gently, "Please, dad."

The Doctor stood firmly to his spot as Clara took the photo from his hands, offering him a crooked smile as she held the image to her chest a moment. And then she handed it over to her father, who looked his daughter over before turning his attention to the scan he held. To process it, the Doctor thought as the other man remained, emotionless, staring down at the image.

He imagined his mind was creating a list of questions, not unlike his daughter's had done when she'd found out, except this man's list would be far different. He would be questioning how far along she was, why he was being told now when the scan revealed obviously she'd known a while. He'd want to know if she was healthy, if the baby was healthy, because he couldn't see her bump through her blouse. Was the Doctor the father? Wasn't he too old to start a family? What did that mean for Clara and her plans and her life?

What did that mean for this baby?

Dave, the Doctor knew, wanted to know whether he should be happy, or concerned. He understood the man well; he'd had the same thoughts himself. He tried to gauge what Clara's father was thinking, seeing the reddening of the other man's eyes as he continued to stare at the image of his first grandchild. The paper was trembling ever so slightly and the Doctor could see his grip had tightened somewhat, threatening to bend it irreparably.

"Dad?" Clara called timidly. "It's a boy."

He inhaled and straightened, asking quietly, "How long, I mean," his head shifted, but his eyes remained, "How far along are you?"

"Twenty weeks," she responded, "We're both doing great, I'm just starting to show really, but they say he's a good weight and I'm..."

"He's the father," Dave prompted with a slight nod of his head. "The one who looks on death's door is gonna father my grandson and then leave you both with nothing but heartache before this boy's even grown."

"I'm really not that old," the Doctor groaned just as Clara muttered, "He's really not that old."

Two thousand and change, the Doctor thought to himself, hands wrapping in frustration, love to see you beat that. But he understood him, from a human perspective. He growled, "They'll have me as long as they need me, Mr. Oswald, and it'll be a stretch longer than you could ever imagine."

"How long have you known, Clara?" Dave shot, his eyes lifting for the first time to hers. "We were out to lunch a few weeks ago, did you know then and not tell me?"

The Doctor watched Clara slump slightly and he frowned – this was supposed to be a wonderful moment for her, telling her father, and instead it had become sad. Because of him, the Doctor knew. Because of the worry Dave had over _him_.

But Clara smiled and nodded, explaining, "I've known since his first heartbeat." Then, to the odd look her father provided, she prompted, "Go on, you can feel him."

Her father hesitated, fingers twitching slightly before Clara plucked the scan from his hands and took hold of his left, bringing it to her abdomen. "Clara, it's a bit early..." he began with a chuckle, but then he stopped.

The Doctor could see a spark of something in Dave's eyes. Perhaps it was feeling his daughter's flesh extended with a new life just underneath his palm, or perhaps, the Doctor thought with a small smile, perhaps that new life was getting to know his grandfather. Dave's eyes filled and then spilled over with tears and his free hand came up to clap over an unexpected laugh and the Doctor knew... the tiny child who would have his grandmother's smile was reaching out to touch Dave's heart and ease his mind.

"How is this possible," the man breathed. "Clara, I see him, clear as day in my head – I see myself walking with him in a park." He swallowed roughly, blinking at new tears, "I understand, I understand, Doctor." He shook his head slightly, hand dropping to touch his chest, "My stars, Clara, he's beautiful."

Gesturing with an open palm, the Doctor supplied, "Well, he gonna take after his mum."

"He has your eyes," Dave allowed with a sniffle, glancing up at him. "So alien, eh? That'll take some getting used to," he raised a hand to the Doctor's opening mouth, "One visit at a time, Doctor."

Dave retracted his hand slowly, exhaling as he did, and he reached for the scan Clara had placed on the table beside them, looking over the black and white image of the baby. The Doctor pushed his lips together, meeting Clara's amused look, and he explained, "He's a special little boy. He'll be different in a lot of very wonderful ways because of me..."

"He told me," Dave interrupted, nodding to the scan. "He," he winced, considering his words before continuing, "He didn't say a word, but he told me. Let me know it's alright."

Laughing beside him, Clara supplied, "He thinks you're funny."

Dave chuckled, head bowing as he responded, "Yeah, got that impression." He looked to her, "His smile is just like Ellie's, and his laugh is just like yours." His hands opened and he began, "But how can he..."

"Psychic connections, sort of a thing about my race, and they tend to be strongest between family," the Doctor told him calmly. "Fairly strong now, promotes bonding."

Nodding, Dave looked to his daughter, prompting, "So when you say first heartbeat, you actually mean..."

"First heartbeat," she laughed. "I didn't know what to make of it then, but I felt that start and I sort of waited to know definitively and I've been trying to think of a way to tell you. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

He shook his head and sniffled, staring at the photo he held, smiling down at it. The Doctor watched the forefinger of Dave's right hand follow the same path his own had travelled just a few minutes before and he could sense the pulse had calmed and knew his mind was racing with all sorts of new thoughts, a new list of questions. Would he enjoy football like his granddad? Would he be a free spirit like his grandmother? Would he look after others like his mum? Would he be eccentric like his dad?

"A thousand words doesn't quite do this picture justice, does it?" The Doctor offered in amusement.

Dave laughed and met his eyes, "No, Doctor, this boy'll definitely warrant quite a few more."


	8. Medley for a Wanderer and Song for a Son

Eyes closed, the Doctor strummed his fingers over the strings of his guitar, inhaling deeply at the chord emitted softly through the Tardis console space just before he worked out a tune. It was something new in his mind, just a couple of notes that warmed his heart that he had to hear aloud to know if it could have the same effect in actuality. He smiled because it did, and it gifted him with more notes – a melody that grew into a song he played at different octaves and speeds.

He hadn't heard her drift in, padding out from one of the rooms she'd just begun to decorate; because Clara had wanted to do it herself. The Doctor shook his head as his fingers flexed along the strings, she didn't want a machine decorating her son's bedroom; she wanted it done herself, and if the machine committed it to memory for future reconstruction, so be it, but the _first_ time, she'd told him, the _first_ time she'd wanted it done by her hands.

"He really loves this," Clara whispered soothingly in his ear, palms slipping over his shoulders and around them to hold him.

Nodding as he grinned, the Doctor offered, "Perhaps it's his song."

"Do I have a song?" She teased, nudging his temple with her own.

He paused, wrist touching the wood of the guitar as he allowed a new sheet of music to fill his mind as he began to play, eyes again closing against the warmth it brought his hearts. He reveled in the feel of her wrapped around him like a comforting blanket and he melted underneath her when she pressed her lips to his skin and then sighed. Clearly, he understood, she was pleased with the tune she brought him, just as his son was pleased with the notes attributed to him.

"So what's it called?" She teased.

"Ah," he gasped, "It's called Clara, of course."

"Do you have a song, Doctor?" She questioned softly.

Did he have a song, he wondered. He might have long ago, before the pain of everything began to weigh him down in silence. The Doctor tried to remember it, fingertip tapping lightly on a single string four times before he clapped his palm upon them all and then gave a wave of his fingers and a shrug as he turned to her, seeing that bit of sadness in those large eyes. He settled the guitar down and turned fully on his stool, hands slipping over her arms to grasp at her hands.

"Don't be sad for me, Clara," he nodded, "And yes, I _can_ see the thoughts behind those eyes of yours."

She inched into him, circling her hands around the back of his neck. "I would have thought with a past as long as yours, you might have more than a song to share with us," she began, and he smiled at the feeling her use of the word 'us' gave him, like a delicious pudding settling in his stomach. "If you lack a song, I imagine it would mean you lack the happiness to create one."

The Doctor bowed his head, then shook it, looking to the rise in her dress. Her bump was developing high and the sight of it offered him a ticklish round of gooseflesh at least once a day. "I'm not lacking in happiness, Clara," he told her honestly, eyes lifting to meet hers as he smiled, "Maybe your songs overwhelm me with enough happiness that I have no need to create my own."

She smiled then, giggling softly as she explained, "Maybe these songs aren't merely our own then. Maybe we're all _your_ song as well, your creative medley that changes throughout time and space with each set of lives that travel through yours."

He considered it, hands massaging at her sides, and then he laughed, telling her, "Clara Oswald, I do believe you are right."

On a sigh and a tilt of her head, she replied, "I always am, aren't I."

The Doctor chuckled with her, and then lifted her blouse slightly, caressing the skin before him as he asked, "How is our boy doing today?"

"Hungry for melons that are not in season," she supplied.

He nodded, "We'll sort that."

"Dreaming of the rings of Ahkaten," Clara continued.

The Doctor smiled, "Were you thinking on them?"

"It was the music," she told him, gesturing at his guitar.

"He loves the music, eh?" He asked, giving her an amused side-eye.

Clara looked him over a moment, serene expression in her eyes now – fulfilled, he knew, by the notion that her and their unborn son brought him joy – and the Doctor felt himself blush as she explained, "He loves everything his father loves."

"Nothing ego-centric about that at all," he quipped, accepting her playful pat to the back of the head as she laughed.

Shifting sideways, he picked his guitar back up as Clara moved to lean into the console, hands immediately curling around her stomach to display a bump that had grown so much in the past few weeks. He set his fingers to the strings, strumming out the notes of her song for a while before falling into the notes of their baby's and he watched Clara smile down at her stomach, thumbs swaying ever so slightly while she absorbed her son's happiness at hearing the tunes.

"He'll love the sparkle of starlight at the end of a long and tiring day, finding solace in that twinkle, knowing tomorrow is a grander day," the Doctor told her. "He'll love the complexity of a good mystery novel and the feel of satisfaction when he finds the assumptions he'd made while reading turn out to be correct," he smiled to her little humph. "He'll love the laughter of children, and a good ripened banana, and the way his mother's eyes look upon him, filled with so much of everything, he'll be tempted to turn away, but incapable of doing so."

Clara's hand was at his shoulder then, adding softly, "He'll love to dance about the console, mind and heart set on adventure. He'll love the smell of the grass on new planets and he'll love the feel of an alien breeze in his hair." She leaned into him, whispering, "He'll love to listen to the songs his hearts create to play them on his father's guitar."

"I'll have to teach him to play before I lose the ability to another man."

The slap to the back of his head was harder then as she hissed, "Don't even say that."

He shook his head, "We'll not think on it then."

"No," Clara asserted, "We'll not."

He laughed lightly and looked up at her, fingers stopping as he sighed. "How's his room coming along? Is she cooperating?"

With a smile, Clara nodded, "I've agreed to let her paint the walls, as it's not safe for me to do so, but otherwise, we're agreeing on the placement of things."

"Glad you're getting along," he laughed to himself, strumming a chord.

"You should come back, see everything we've done so far – I think you'll enjoy it."

Gesturing to the guitar, he told her calmly, "I need to finish up his song, commit it to memory, maybe teach you how to play it one day," he laughed at the roll of her eyes before he looked to the instrument he held as she began to walk away. "Have to give it a name," he uttered to himself.

"It's called Aurelius," Clara called and he looked to her, standing just inside of the archway that lead into the Tardis, right hand over her the highest point of her belly. She smiled to him and then her eyes drifted before she nodded and repeated, "The song's name is Aurelius Daniel Oswald."


	9. Beauty in Memories

There was a grimace on her face when she entered the Tardis and the Doctor knew instantly what had put it there because her eyes dropped to the cherry-colored blouse she wore underneath the dark jacket and her fingers tugged at the edges of her black jeans. Maternity clothes, he thought to himself, they weren't what Clara would consider fashionable and he knew she prided herself on being _somewhat_ fashionable. He shrugged when she eyed him, hands coming up to request his opinion. The Doctor didn't disapprove, but he'd learned he should probably offer a flattering remark of sorts.

Though he knew just how dangerous that could be.

"It's very red," he told her on a nod, flipping a few switches in front of him and looking to the new images on his screen. She remained silent and he pinched his lips together as he took a measured breath, knowing he'd said the wrong thing, and feeling her shifting slowly towards the console as they moved through the vortex.

"It's very red?" Clara repeated, that little hint of frustration evident in her voice as she waited.

He widened his eyes and glanced over at her, hand gesturing towards her attire before he explained, "You want me to have an opinion on a matter on which I have none of any use." Her mouth dropped open and he added, "You look no different to me, you should understand this by now." And then he grunted in quiet frustration, "That's meant as a compliment."

Clara moved closer and he swallowed roughly, head bowing to avoid her stare. "So you think it looks alright is what you're trying to say – I don't look like a half-inflated balloon animal."

Line of sight shifting to the wall blankly, he considered it before looking her over again. He might have laughed, now that she mentioned it. Ample breasts and the rounded bump of her stomach pressing the red fabric lightly outward, _it did look a bit like the sections of a_... her hand landed roughly at his arm, stopping the thought before she chuckled to herself, alleviating his worry.

"Everyone says I look so beautiful," she uttered, and he could hear her doubt before she stated, "I'm not feeling beautiful. More like I ate everyone's share of take away in a rush." She sighed and touched her stomach. "Aurie thinks I'm beautiful; the memory of me makes him happy."

The mention of their baby's name – Clara's abbreviated version of it – took a beat from his hearts and he smiled, stopping his maneuvering through the vortex. Moving towards her, the Doctor laughed softly, reaching out to slip a delicate palm around their son as he told her, "His opinion is the only one that matters, Clara, and you know he's only capable of speaking the truth."

"It's sad that one day he'll learn to lie," she offered absently. "The universe..." she began before shaking her head to dismiss the thought, but he understood. Even the best person could be corrupted by the vast universe that sat around them. He refused to lie to her and say it wouldn't happen to their son because he knew the life their little boy would grow up in, so he merely frowned with her, fingertips stroking at her swollen flesh beneath that blouse.

"We'll do our best to keep him honest," he promised her on a nod. "And you _are_ beautiful."

Clara laughed, "You said I never look any different to you."

"Well then, Clara Oswald," the Doctor gasped, feigning shock before continuing, "You are _always_ beautiful to me."

"You're an idiot," she teased.

"And look," he responded, "You're carrying the offspring of an idiot."

"Good thing he has my genetics," she shrugged, "Less of an idiot."

He chuckled and slipped his hands up along her arms and over her shoulders, pulling her into a snug embrace and reveling in that feel of her arms circling him to hold him securely. He'd gotten used to it, knowing he deserved her affection, and it was a comforting feeling. Kissing the top of her head lightly, he listened to her contented sigh, and then inched back, keeping one arm around her as she held onto his waist and dropping the other hand to the controls to ease them into a time in the future through the atmosphere of a distant planet.

"How do you feel about wandering about a barren landscape of rocky tundra stretched out between the massive sand dunes of two alien deserts?" He asked.

Clara groaned, "That sounds terrible, Doctor."

He nodded, "Then it's a good thing I've found us a quaint little city not unlike Venice where we can take a tour on a Gondola and sample exotic cuisine."

Her giggle comforted him, and she sighed, "That would be perfect."

They moved together towards the doors and stepped out into the warm air, smiling at the humanoid aliens – albeit slightly green – going about their business, oblivious to the pair of strangers who'd just appeared out of thin air. It calmed the Doctor greatly that they could still travel incognito without much need for disguises or false names to hide their identities. Vastra had told him in confidence, upon sniffing out Clara's pregnancy, that the number of those out in the universe indebted to him far outweighed those who wanted to do him harm.

Clara, she assured, would be safe.

Slipping her palm into his, the woman beside him led him along a cobblestone sidewalk, where she smiled at vendors who offered her jewelry and scarves. Clara perused, lingering on items here and there while the Doctor worked out payment for a boat ride to tour the canals that served as streets. Like Venice, he thought again, without the vampire fish. He gave the water a scan with his Sonic, to be sure, before they began to drift through those dark waters between the sidewalks, past the vendor stalls and the quaint little buildings and the smells of alien meats and breads.

"I imagine it must be nice, living here," Clara told him as she leaned into his side, looking up at the lights strung over the water, illuminating their ride. "Boring," she added with a tilt of her head, "But nice."

The Doctor chuckled and then sighed, allowing, "Sometimes boring is nice." He leaned back to look up at the stars twinkling in the night sky. "Not for long stretches at a time, but occasionally one gets tired of fearing for their life and the lives of loved ones." He looked to her considerately, waiting for her eyes to find his before telling her honestly, "That red reminds me of the sky on Gallifrey just before sundown; when you turn it brings back the memory of the wind playing over fields of tall grass at sundown."

"Doctor," Clara began softly, "Give him a memory of Gallifrey." He shifted, settling a hand atop her stomach as she whispered, "Give him a good one."

Contemplating the exact right choice, he closed his eyes and felt his son's eagerness before he thought back upon his own childhood. It had been so long since he'd thought of it, _so very long_ , he knew. There'd been a rain, an unlikely rain on a chilly night he couldn't sleep. He'd been standing out in it, drenched to the bone and laughing at the audacity of the sky to choose that moment to open upon him. Perhaps, he'd thought, it was fate, for the first sun had just begun to rise in the sky and in that drizzle of rain, there were a plethora of rainbows, sparkling in the atmosphere against each droplet of water.

His son laughed.

 _Almost as beautiful as mummy_.

Opening his eyes, he took a long breath and looked to the woman beside him, eyes glistening with unshed tears, her hand lying delicately atop his. The Doctor knew she could see his memory, and she could feel the euphoria that moment had given him as a child. Clara could also feel the way that memory tickled their son and made him think of her against those rainbows in that red sky.

He kissed her there as the sun of that alien planet finished its descent beneath the horizon, listening to the twang of gentle music drifting out from a restaurant, and the echo of a giggle from a boy he could now faintly feel, tapping a foot against the inside of his palm.


	10. Dream Around the Bend

Eyes shifting quickly beneath their lids, Clara laid quietly in the bed beside him, dreaming calmly about something that brought an occasional smile to her lips. The Doctor stopped his fingers over the strings of his guitar and he settled the instrument on its stand so he could concentrate on her a while. He smiled, as he often did at the thought – Clara Oswald, entirely his, of her own choosing, for a lifetime. He never let himself dwell on how short it would be in the long run, only on the fact that he'd been given that chance again.

She sighed as he shifted down to rest his head atop the pillow he'd been leaning into, adjusting himself to watch her measured breaths. To listen to the tiniest hum that escaped her. To inhale the scent of her as they drifted through space. Years from now he would close his eyes and remember this, he knew. He would remember how peaceful she looked; he would remember how her pulse worked a beat against the skin at her neck; he would remember the hand she laid over her belly.

"What do you dream, my impossible girl?" He crooned.

She smirked, taking in a long breath before shifting closer to him, fingertips sliding along his shirt to circle his ribcage and settle at his side, forehead nuzzling his chest. Her right knee tucked itself just into the edges of the ridge formed by his thighs and her stomach pressed into his delightfully. The kicks of their son were still soft through the barriers between them, but he felt them more often now and he snaked a hand to that gentle tapping, kissing Clara atop the head.

"What do you dream, my beautiful Aurelius?" The Doctor whispered. "The wonders of your mother's mind, no doubt – memories of her travels; hopes for your future. Or perhaps you lend her a bit of your soul, reaching out to begin pondering the universe?" He sighed, "What do you dream, my loves?"

He felt a tug at his hearts and he closed his eyes, knowing that was the touch of his son's abilities, and he was in a sunny park on Earth, listening to a breeze rattling weaker leaves from the trees as birds twittered about happily. He smiled, looking out at Clara as she ran along grass just beginning to lose it's brilliance to the beginning of autumn. She wore a dress, unusual for her, he pondered as he took in the yellow streaks along the flowing fabric and the delicate oversized pink cardigan settled atop it. He laughed, making his way towards her as he looked to the boy she chased after.

Four, he guessed, possibly older if he took after his mother in height, with a wide smile and round reddened cheeks. The Doctor watched him run lazily away from Clara, dark hair bouncing about his head as he went, just before the Doctor called out boldly, "Aurelius!" The boy's heels dug in as he stopped and turned, straightening and offering him an excited intake of breath and a widening of his eyes.

"Daddy!" He squealed between laughs, turning to spring towards him.

The Doctor bent, mouth shifting open with a shocked laugh as the tiny body met his outstretched hands. He hoisted him up against him, feeling the thudding of his hearts increase as those thin arms wrapped around his neck, giggle mischievously continuing behind his ear.

"And how are you, Aurelius?" He asked him quietly.

Fingers gripping the Doctor's shoulders, the little boy pushed himself up to meet his eyes, amusement of his mother's antics fading to serene examination of his father's face as he calmed his breath. "Mummy and I were playing a game and she was an Ice Warrior, but I'm too fast for her to catch me."

The Doctor's eyes closed, hearing his son speak so clearly.

Aurelius spoke confidently, like his mother, though his accent was a touch stronger. Some sweet spot between his parent's accents that was proudly Northern. The boys on Gallifrey would be pleased, the Doctor thought to himself, smiling as the child continued, "But mummy is tired, I think I've taken her too far into our future."

He looked to the boy's bright eyes as they waited curiously, and he nodded to his son, explaining, "We can see the expanse of time in our minds in a way your mummy cannot on her own, so these travels might take a bit of a toll on her, even in a dream state."

"Oh no," he exclaimed excitedly, "She's alright with the telepathic time travel, she loves it. Says she loves to see me grow."

"He's just taken me to a tiring time tonight," Clara offered, one hand rubbing lightly on the Doctor's arm, the other landing on her stomach, on a small low bump in her abdomen she stroked as she asked him in confusion, "Is it possible to feel her through time like this?" She looked to the Doctor, "Or is it all in my head?"

The Doctor looked to his son, who merely watched his mother with an adoring smirk, oblivious to the potential of what he'd inadvertently done, then he looked to the woman beside him, eyes unfocused as her thumb continued a slow movement back and forth between the yellow and white of her dress. Her lips lifted slightly and she glanced down at herself, brow dropping just before she released the smallest of laughs.

"Clara, what do you feel?" Then he added, slowly, "Clara, what does our _daughter_ feel?"

For a moment, she didn't answer, and then her head lifted and she smiled, admitting quietly, so much so he almost didn't hear, "Your daughter's hearts, they got stronger when you spoke – when you," she stopped before meeting his stare, "When you _acknowledged_ her." She laughed. "She got stronger when you..."

"Made her a fixed point in time," he finished, eyes closing on a smile. "Aurelius," he began, looking to his son and seeing the way his eyes reddened and his head bowed, sensing he'd done something wrong. The Doctor nodded and offered, "Let's walk a bit, leave your mother to her bonding."

He held him firmly in his arms, memorizing the weight of him and the way his legs hung over his stomach and back-end limply as they drifted away from Clara, still standing with her hands now wrapped around a life years away from becoming reality. Perhaps, the Doctor considered, this was only a dream. A concoction of some mixture of their son's vivid imagination, and of Clara's... and perhaps a twinge of his own, he smiled. And yet, there was no denying the way his hearts had felt that pull to the girl in Clara's womb.

Or the little face he'd distinctly seen as he'd felt it.

"You're not in trouble," he assured the boy who still gripped his neck lightly with warm long fingers. The Doctor inhaled, remembering what Clara had said months ago, of their son's smell, finding that scent of strawberry and space easily in the air. "But perhaps, since we have this opportunity, we should discuss the rules of space time, of dreams, and of consequences."

Aurie nodded slowly, swallowing and giving him a guilty look reminiscent of his mother's.

They made their way to the edge of a cliff over which an ocean sat and he questioned, "Scottland?"

The boy shrugged.

He shrugged in response. "You have a gift, Aurelius, because time travel, a version of time travel has always been possible in dreams – but not everyone is capable of so easily achieving it." He looked to his son, staring out at the waves. "How much have you explored through it?"

Turning his eyes to the Doctor's, Aurie shook his head and told him, "I only talk to mummy. I promise," he stopped to look down, explaining, "Mummy taught me the rules of time already, daddy."

"We shouldn't know about your sister yet," the Doctor stated. "You might have altered the course of time, showing us she exists, or could exist." Glancing back at Clara he sighed, "She was always a possibility, just as you had always been a possibility before you were conceived, but now she's a fixed point."

"Am I fixed too?" Aurie asked, "For talking to you and mummy?"

There was a tremble to his voice, one the Doctor understood meant he thought fixed points might possible be terrible things, and he laughed, pulling the boy into a tight hug, one he returned desperately. He hugged, the Doctor noted, just like his mother. "Aurie," he whispered, "Aurie you are, and it's a wonderful thing that you are because I look forward to meeting you outside of dreams, and your mother... Aurelius, your mother has waited a lifetime for you. We both love you so very much, from the very moment we knew about you. From the very moment you fixed yourself into our lives, we've loved you and we grow in that love for you."

"I feel it, daddy," he whispered back. "I am a good thing in the universe."

"The very best thing," the Doctor asserted.

"You're waking up," his son offered.

Opening his eyes, he looked into Clara's as she ran a hand along his cheek, palming it and smiling. They remained there a while, looking over one another to see the little things, here and there, that their son had picked up from each of them – or would, over time. They were both afraid to ask the question of the other: _had_ it been real? Until the Doctor signed and assured, "They both look just like you."

Clara sighed, and responded, "And they both have your eyes."


	11. Widdle Waddle Warm Woman

It was subtle, and the Doctor imagined she would argue against it if he told her it was there, but it was there... a new waddle to the way that she walked, circling the console to examine settings and gripe with the Tardis about on-board temperature readings. He watched her from the entrance, closing the doors behind himself and smirking. Clara had her left hand atop her belly and she was lightly sliding the fingertips of her right hand along the controls as she claimed it was much warmer than the Tardis was telling her.

"Well, are you capable of reading _me_ proper right _now_ ," Clara finally grunted.

He made his way to the screen, trying not to chuckle – he'd learned it wasn't safe when she was upset – and he typed, dropping the digits to a cooler degree. "Clara, she's reading fine; you're _pregnant_."

She released a long, frustrated sigh.

The Doctor chanced a quick laugh, typing and then glancing at her as she settled herself into the closest of seats, looking down at her stomach with a frown. "What is it?" He questioned, muting his amusement in favor of curiosity.

She swallowed and he could see her eyes redden slightly, fighting tears he tried not to over-react to as she shrugged and stated plainly, "I've lost control of my own body."

Bowing his head, he nodded.

Clara licked her lips and tilted her head, "My breasts are swollen, my joints ache, my feet are sore, my lower back and calves randomly spasm; I'm tired and hungry and emotional and completely off kilter and," she looked up at him, "And I know right now I'm sharing myself with him and I know I have to power through and tolerate the negative aspects of pregnancy for just a bit longer, but it's unnerving sometimes, how little I'm in control of my body now."

The Doctor could see her lower lip trembling just before she straightened to take a long breath.

"He's sorry," she laughed.

"And he's not very in control of himself either, Clara, or the chemical reactions his existence is causing for you," he offered. Kneeling before her, he settled his palms atop her thighs. "He's uncoordinated and blind and his hearing is muted through your womb. Mentally he's sound, but his physical world is chaos and it will remain that way for some time for him – even after you've regained control of yourself."

She smiled, nodding slowly, and then suddenly asked, "Is he hot?" The Doctor frowned. "Your body temperature is cooler than ours, isn't it – is he hot in there, because of me?"

Laughing as she offered a frustrated stare, he told her plainly, "No, his temperature is human, at least it is now, and he's perfectly fine with it," looking to her stomach, he whispered, "Aren't you, Aurelius?"

Clara sat up and pulled her blouse over her head, gripping it tightly in her hands as she took a long breath to offer plainly, "Hot."

The Doctor stood and shook his head, smiling as he walked away from her to meet the console, ticking the temperature down a few more degrees. He watched her stand, hands reaching for the edges of the control panels beside her. He observed her drop the blouse onto the chair before taking the few steps towards him, smirk now playing on her lips as she came to stand beside him.

"Could take you to a planet made of ice, or a snowy forest, or to the edge of the universe to float out amongst the stars – it is just a bit cooler there." He watched her shrug.

Glancing down at her stomach, Clara groaned, "I noticed my waddle, walking this morning from my bed to the bath. It's barely there, he's so small, but it's there." She sighed, and then laughed, "I'm a wreck." She looked to him, "And I know you've seen it and you're trying to be polite. I appreciate the tact."

Working an awkward smile, he shrugged in response, telling her, "Honestly, to me it's merely the consequences of shifts in anatomy. Perfectly normal," and then he added, leaning into her, "And perfectly beautiful."

"Like exploding stars and the repercussions," she teased.

Considering it, he replied, "Perhaps not exactly like that, but in a sense, yes."

Clara reached for his hand, laying it atop a thumping foot just above her belly button.

"You're an expanding universe, about to birth a brilliant new star and that needs a bit of wiggle room," he began softly, watching her carefully as he felt their son's movements. "Gases, atoms, particles, everything needs to form in precise alignment and that's a bit painful oft times, but when it's over, it's beautiful."

"It'd be great if the universe could just cool down a bit," she laughed.

The Doctor shook his head, "Oh, no, no, Clara, expanding a universe requires immense outputs of heat, bursts of gamma rays and radiation. Everything has to _cook_." He smiled.

Tilting her head, Clara asked, "Are you telling me this to make me feel better?"

On a shrug, he offered, " _Does_ it make you feel better?"

She held up her hand, fingers an inch apart and she squinted, whispering, "A little."

"Then it's _absolute_ truth," he determined.

The Tardis landed softly and Clara looked to the doors, then turned to take in his amused expression, questioning softly, "Where have we gone?"

"Surprise," he replied before gesturing, "Put your clothes back on."

Bowing her head on a laugh, she went to retrieve the blouse, slipping it on before they made their way towards the Tardis doors, Clara curling her right arm around his waist as he settled his left atop her shoulders. She was leaning into him comfortably and he released a long sigh of relief just as they reached the edge of the metal walkway towards their destination.

He felt he was doing that more often these days. Every time she molded herself to him; every time she pressed a kiss to his flesh; every time she laughed his name; every mention of their son's. They were things becoming commonplace in his life, and with each passing day he felt himself expel just a bit of the tension that had been built up over a thousand years in a series of sighs.

He smiled down at her as she pulled open the door and huffed, "Might have warned me that I would need a coat too."

They looked out at the Antarctic, sparkling white and sunny. The Doctor and Clara admired the simple silence whispering through the vast land, until an Emperor penguin honked as it crunched its way around the Tardis to stare up at them in confusion. It stretched its body and shook before being joined by curious friends as Clara glanced up at the Doctor with a lowering of her brow and a twisting of her lips. A look that brought an automatic laugh out from the Doctor as she pointed to him.

"If you've brought me here to feel more at home with my newfound waddle, I'm going to hurt you," she told him sternly, but with that hint of amusement that warmed his hearts.

The Doctor shook his head and assured, "I only imagined you'd enjoy a cooler temperature for a while."

Her giggle soothed him and she rushed back to retrieve a thick coat from the wardrobe, emerging with a hoot of glee that made him laugh. The penguins circled her and then seemingly shrugged their presence off, going back to their business of walking about in the snow, or huddling together for a nap. Clara walked towards the ocean nearby, glancing out at the chunks of ice floating in place on the still water there. He approached her slowly, hands pushed deeply into his pockets for warmth.

"This reminds me of the day we told each other about Aurie," she offered.

Bowing his head shyly, the Doctor nodded. He knew it would. He smiled to reply, "A bit colder."

"A bit dryer," she retorted. She looked out and declared, "He loves memories of oceans – I think he might be a sailor one day." Looking to the Doctor, Clara added, "Of stars and seas, and everything in between."

"That would make him extraordinary," he breathed, eyes wide.

She smirked and touched her gloved hands to her belly, giving it a gentle pat through the thick fake fur of her coat, and she sighed, "And if I have to waddle for him a while to get there, it'll be a proud waddle."

Somewhere nearby a penguin let out a shuddered honk and they laughed before the Doctor told her honestly, "If we could switch off, like these flightless birds, I'd gladly brood over Aurelius while you spread your wings a bit." He smiled, "Take over the business of waddling."

"Nah," Clara sighed, leaning into him again, left arm coming up to wrap around him, "My baby, my waddle."

"My baby too," he gasped before laughing with her.

She tilted her head into him and he kissed the top, knowing they should return to the warmth of the Tardis, even if she would complain about it soon enough. He waited, looking to the birds he knew were incubating their eggs, huddled together in a cluster for heat, and then he looked to her when he heard her intake of breath, that quiet thought finally emerging...

"It's bloody cold out here."

He let out a guffaw and nodded. "Let's get you back inside."


	12. Simple Maths of Our Grand Life

The Kalusians lived the majority of their lives in little burrows built along the shorelines of lakes and ponds in the forests of their home planet, but they begin that life in the waters they surround themselves with. A female of their species carries only one fertilized egg into the shallows and she lays it there, surrounded by the algae and weeds, to be guarded over by its parents for the month it takes to develop into their 'tadpole' stage. The parents trade off duties between home and nursery as their infant swims freely, until its lungs and limbs are fit to live on land, and only then do they guide their child back to their proper home to be named in a ceremony amongst their people.

So of course they were fascinated by Clara.

"The young of your kind are carried within you?"

"We make our own pond inside of us, in a sense, to keep them safe and close until they are ready to be born," she replied calmly as green-tinted scaly webbed hands hovered around her belly, and the wide eyes of youngsters stared up in disbelief.

She merely laughed when one girl inched up and carefully pressed her ear to her stomach, listening intently for a moment before shifting back with a shaky, "It bumps."

Bending slightly, Clara offered, "He's stretching his legs."

There were audible sighs of surprise and then a quiet, "How does one know if you carry a son or a daughter if the child cannot be seen?"

The Doctor lit his Sonic then, gesturing at Clara with it and giving it a set of buzzes before whipping it back to declare, "We have instruments to detect such things."

He watched the murmurs spread through the small crowd gathered around them before an elder said something the Tardis did not translate, and they began to disperse. Locking eyes with that man, the Doctor understood that their presence was welcome, but their distraction was not, and they exchanged a simple nod as the Doctor approached him solemnly, raising a fist to hold to his chest as a greeting, watching out of the corner of his eye as Clara was lead away by a few of the children.

"We're merely passing through, no offense intended. We seek to learn," he explained.

The elder croaked approvingly and replied, "We have a simple life here, you have your alien technology – what is it you seek to learn?"

"Perhaps," the Doctor began, seeing Clara being ushered into the water, "How to simply live."

Giving a gurgled laugh, the other man turned and told him, "They hear better under water in their youth, those old ties to their aquatic ancestry is stronger then." He gestured, "The children want to hear your son, the way they listen to their siblings in their hatching pools."

He smiled as the splash of a youngster emerging excitedly from the water elicited laughter from Clara and he watched as they clung to her carefully, testing the fabric of her dress against their bare skin. They chirped at her happily when she spoke, removing the garment and tossing it to the shore before wading out deeper with them to swim. The Doctor sighed when she turned onto her back to float, her stomach and breasts exposed to the mid-day sun, still tanned from an excursion to France the week before.

Circling her, the children's giggles and squeals brought smiles to their parents on the shore, returned to their chores and duties. The elder at his side shifted away with another frog-like grunt, going back to whatever task he'd abandoned to clear the crowd around them. Just a peaceful village, the Doctor thought to himself. Could they ever live a life so simple, he pondered. He looked out at Clara, shifting to dunk her head underwater, emerging to clear her eyes of it to laugh at the children surrounding her, swimming more adeptly than she ever would.

There could never be a simple life for them, not before, but especially not ever again. He bowed his head, thinking about Clara. Her future would be chaos unknown now. The pregnancy, he knew, would be the easy part, but after Aurelius, she would add mother to her list of titles and it was a grand title to have when taken seriously. Far more important than him becoming a father, standing by to assist. He smiled, beginning a slow walk through the village to leave Clara to her wading with the children.

He remembered the days of Danny Pink and how he imagined she'd wanted a normal life. The Doctor wondered then whether she'd be able to slip back into one after everything she'd been through with him – the adventures, the scattering to the time winds, the little spark of something between them he thought might have been love – but for a window in time, he thought maybe she was seeking it out. The little quaint house in a cul-de-sac with the absolutely normal husband to come home to, and a child or two who would be perfectly behaved under their tutelage. He smiled, nodding to a mother and her squirmy fish-like infant and he knew it would be only a month until they had their own, less fish-like little boy.

It was hours later, seated by a new fire at sunset, that she rejoined him, covered, he noted with a lifting of one brow, in mud and nothing save her now soiled knickers. She reached for his hand to help her sit on the log beside him, and as she leaned into him, she assured, "It's completely dried, won't dirty your coat, I promise."

"May I inquire as to why you've taken a mud bath?" He prompted lightly.

She giggled, then shrugged and supplied, "Do as the locals do, Doctor, isn't that why we're here?"

He grimaced, but then smiled when she laughed, looking out to the families gathering around fire pits that sat near the lake they called home. They gurgled and croaked together, greetings and explanations in a language so old the Tardis left them as simple sounds that warmed him somewhat. It was primitive, basic... _normal_. He looked to Clara, her arms wrapped around his, her temple pressed into his shoulder, her large eyes drooping from a day rushing about after children and conversing with their mothers.

"Imagine living like this," she told him softly. "This is it; this is the entirety of your life."

"Sometimes I do," he admitted, "I gave it serious thought, when I had no regenerations left."

"Yes," she smiled, "You said you'd take up bee keeping."

"Or something," he added, looking to her.

Letting loose a long sigh, Clara nodded, then smiled when the Doctor shifted to lay an open palm to her abdomen, feeling for the strong kicks Aurelius offered now. His hearts surged for a moment at the thought that their son could be born now, that very moment, and he would survive in their arms in the open air, like the tadpoles that had left the waters to join their families. Aurelius would be helpless in the way infants were, but he could live outside of Clara's nestled pond of a womb at any time now.

 _I'm not ready yet, daddy_.

 _Perhaps, son, I'm not ready yet either_.

The Doctor gripped his hands together, turning to look at their fire before gazing out at the Kalusians around them, tending to their families. He could sense her eyes on him, boring holes so intensely he imagined his mind might spill out into the open if she looked long enough. He smiled nervously as he glanced in her direction, nodding to acknowledge her assumption that something was weighing his thoughts. Clara always knew, he thought as he looked to his hands, opening in the dim light and shutting again as he bowed his head.

"Is this the life you envisioned for yourself when you were younger," he began.

"Pregnant with an alien baby, making his home half in the stars, your spouse a mad man living in a time travelling box," she laughed easily, nudging him lightly, "I doubt any child envisions their future so boldly."

Shaking his head, he gestured towards the other fires, "A life like _this_." He looked to her, "A quiet life, Clara; a simple life."

She seemed to study the families carefully for a moment before telling him, "The children tell me he sings a beautiful song and their mothers tell me that is a good omen."

"Clara," he stated simply.

Her smile faded, "Doctor, when I was younger, there were less options. You get older; you get married or you don't; you have children or you don't; you find a career or just a job. It's all maths sometimes, if-then statements – _oh, Danny would laugh at me comparing life to maths_ , but it is." She shrugged, "I hadn't given it much thought back then, I was twenty four. I was a _kid_ , a kid pretending to be grown," she laughed. "I wanted to travel; I wanted to _do things_ and then yes, maybe, I wanted to settle down, start a family."

Nodding slowly, he scratched at his chin lightly. Staring into the fire, he told her quietly, "A simple life isn't something I can offer."

Clara straightened and shifted, then reached for his hand to bring it back to her stomach, holding it there as she waited for him to meet her stare, "Choosing to travel with you changed my options. I'm still gonna get older and maybe one day we'll marry traditionally with rings and paperwork, but we've had three ceremonies on different planets and one on Earth in 1872. I'm going to have _at least_ two children who are going to be like no other children in the universe. And I get to have my job as a teacher, but I also get a career as a space traveller-adventurer. Who can say that about their life?" Clara let out a small breath when Aurelius dug a heel into her ribcage, and then she laughed, inching forward to press her lips to the Doctor's before leaning her forehead into his to tell him, "You've given me exactly what I never knew I wanted."

"Passed the maths test then, eh, teach?" He teased.

Aurelius kicked again roughly and Clara shivered in response, the Doctor knew, to the same little twinge of simultaneous fear and excited anticipation growing in him, knowing how close now they were to their son's arrival. She laughed nervously and replied quietly, "Flying colors, Doctor."


	13. Hello Aurie

It was just a fraction of a second, something no one else would have noticed, but he felt his hearts freeze up and stop. The muscles shuddered and began their pumping anew just as his knees crashed into the metal plating beneath him and he gasped with the shock of it. Chest trembling, he laid his palms to the cold floor, taking long breath after long breath and he closed his eyes against the sharpening of his vision and the sparkling of particles drifting through the air. His mind had gone numb to all thoughts except one; one that trickled from his mouth in a pained breath.

"Aurelius."

His son's fear – reaching out in agonizing waves – moistened the Doctor's skin with sweat as he clamored back up to pilot the Tardis to Clara on shaky knees, landing just inside of a caretaker's closet at Coal Hill. Footsteps storming through hallways, he could see confusion in those young eyes he passed and then he landed against a set of heavy hands that held him firmly, speaking in a hushed tone to tell him what he already knew: Clara was nearby, and she'd gone into labor.

"We've called for an ambulance, she..." the headmaster began.

"Where is she?" the Doctor demanded, eyes locking onto the other man's, taking in the translucency of his human skin and the tiny beads of sweat dotting the top of his brow just before they began a brisk walk.

He listened to the whisper of the children as they went, and he released a breath just as they reached a familiar teacher's lounge. Inside, he found her lying on the couch, eyes closed and face tensed with worry, joined by a man and a woman the Doctor knew taught science of some sort or another. He nodded shortly to them, dismissing them from their guard duties to Clara as he knelt beside her to watch her slowly open her eyes to smile up at him.

"I knew you were coming," she breathed.

He ran a steady hand over the side of her head, feeling the dampness in her hair and the stickiness to her skin as he cupped her cheek gently, "Hush, Clara, let's not waste our energy on sentimental dialogue."

She laughed.

Beside him, the male teacher offered, "We've called for an ambulance, but I don't think there's time."

"Time," the Doctor uttered, "There's always time. What we don't have right now is clean blankets, water, a sterilized scalpel, and a grilled cheese sandwich," he snapped his fingers, "I smelled them on the way in, could someone fetch me a bite, this sort of thing tends to build one's appetite."

The Doctor ignored the sudden scramble around them and he focused on Clara's tired smirk, the minute shake of her head, and then the wince she offered as she explained, "The first contraction hit in the middle of class, and I thought I could get through the day, give you a ring, get to a hospital. Normal labor lasts hours, right? Or maybe it was one of those false alarms, you know? Braxton Hicks?" She looked to him, nodding, waiting for a nod in reply that never came. "And then the second contraction hit five minutes later, nearly took me off my feet. The third was just a few seconds ago," she shook her head, "How did you..."

The Doctor inched forward, touching his chest, and he whispered, "He's afraid."

Clara swallowed roughly and told him quietly, "I can't feel him, Doctor, not in the same way."

On a nod, he told her, "The psychic bit of our bonds will change in a lot of ways after he's born, Clara. He won't need them anymore."

Her eyes narrowed in confusion as he shifted down, lifting the dress she wore to examine her quickly as his heart beats picked up their pace. Pinching his lips together, he tilted his head, and then looked back to her, to see the worry in her eyes, seeing it in his. She was in pain, he knew, and their son was in a panic, being pressed and guided towards the world he'd only experienced in dreams through his mother.

"Doctor," she breathed, reaching to take his hand to hold through a contraction.

Her grip was strong, but careful, and he held her knee, telling her softly, "Very soon, Clara, he's going to have you and he's going to have me, and together we're going to re-learn how the universe works through him."

Releasing a shuddered breath, she replied, "It's too fast, Doctor. Too early." She looked to him then, dark eyes dilated and terrified, and admitted weakly, "I'm not ready to be his mum."

He sighed, body relaxing as he looked her over, and he shook his head, replying, "Clara, _Clara_ , you've been ready to be his mum for longer than you've known you even wanted him." Giving her leg a squeeze, he added, "And he is very obviously ready to be your son."

She was nodding and though the Doctor could hear the ambulance's wail in the distance, he knew his son would arrive far faster than the vehicle. He moved back on the couch and gave her legs a rub, hating that she was now crying silently. Hating that he could still feel the shockwaves of his son's bewilderment vibrating through his body as he checked Clara again just as her water broke to a gasp from her trembling lips.

"He's not ok," she managed. "Doctor, Aurelius, he's not ok."

"He's fine, Clara," he assured.

He understood her fear: she couldn't feel her son anymore – the psychic link muddled by their emotions, and the natural progression of things – so she was convinced of the worst. A part of him wanted to smile because he knew that little change in those few minutes would instill in her every instinct she would need over their child's life. She would listen too hard and feel too much and worry and strategize preemptively to try and keep their son safe. He wanted to smile because the boy would hate her for it, but he would love her for it as well, and he would learn so much because of it.

But it wasn't a time for smiles, he knew, not just yet.

Clara pushed on her next contraction and he watched the crimson crawl up from her neck as the teardrops stuck to the corners of her eyes shook with her effort, clinging to their perches until she stopped to pant for breath. He offered a nod, meeting her narrowed eyes, because he could see the crown of a head just beginning to peek out at the world. He tried to breathe with her, encouraging her to slow each breath, to take a moment, but she shook her head and she was pushing again as he was calling her name.

She shouted quickly, and the Doctor looked down into his son's face, wrinkled and bloody and angry. The other woman in the room held Clara's shoulders as the Doctor listened to her whine and then shout again with relief as Aurelius spilled out into his waiting hands. He was a writhing mess of limbs, warm and wet against him as the Doctor cleaned out his mouth and laughed against those first whimpers. The boy let out a small cry as he held him up for Clara to see and his hearts calmed, looking from the child held firmly within his hands to the woman who sobbed openly at the sight of her son.

"Hello, Aurie," she sighed as the Doctor laid the newborn upon her chest, waiving off, for the moment, the towel being handed to him. Clara leaned into the couch, a hand calmly laid into the boy's bare back, the other on his bum, and she looked to the Doctor with a smile.

It was a smile he allowed himself to return then, knowing she was satisfied their child was fine, moping against her collar as she kissed his forehead and whispered gently against him as the sirens grew louder. The Doctor held the umbilical cord in his right palm, watching it continue to pulse lightly there. He rubbed at his brow with his sleeve of his left, and he listened to Clara as he waited for the cord to finish its job.

"Oh, my baby boy," she breathed. "Everything's just gotten very real, hasn't it." She kissed him lightly again and laughed to herself. "You're bloody small, aren't you. Take after your dad, ok? Oh my stars, you're small. He's so small, Doctor."

Glancing up, he huffed happily, "He's perfect, Clara."

Nodding to look at Aurelius, she stated, "He is, but he's so small. _So small_ ," she repeated quietly as he found the requested scalpel to cut the cord, tying it off to look to the boy, separate now from his mother. His own entity in the universe. "Doctor, how do we take care of someone so small?"

He moved to take the place of the woman who'd been sitting behind her, letting Clara lay back against him as the ambulance pulled into the front of the school. They'd given her the towel and she'd laid it over him, and the Doctor watched his round little head rise and fall with each long breath she took and he laughed. He was unbelievably tiny, and pink. His head was covered in a thin layer of dark hair, his eyes were shut, and his lips were pouted, but he was calmly lying there.

"Look at him, Clara. He's listening," he told her. "The one constant he's had since he began has been your heartbeat, thudding away just a bit above him, reminding him every second of every day that his mother is right there with him doing the very best she can to keep him safe and loved." He nudged the boy's cheek with his knuckle as he heard the footsteps coming down the hall, squeaky gurney alongside them. "We care for him the same way we've been doing, Clara, and we hope for the best."

She released a shaky laugh and then sighed, "Oh Aurie, mummy's got you."

The Doctor accepted a napkin wrapped sandwich and he took a bite, watching Clara stare at their son. Their little boy, he thought as he touched his free hand to his bare shoulder, feeling the tingle that travelled through his body. The excitement and anxiety flowing side by side through his veins. He touched the newborn's head, fingertips resting delicately against him, searching out his thoughts to be sure his boy wasn't fearing as he had been moments ago.

 _Hello, Aurelius_.

 _Hello, daddy_.


	14. Embers of a Shared Life

The silence was different now, the Doctor thought as his right forefinger slowly slid over the plating beside a lever, ending its journey atop a red button he pushed before typing softly at a keyboard. It was deliberate, and filled with a simple anticipation of the sound that would soon fill it. The tiny cries of their infant son needing to be fed or changed, or simply held. The Tardis quieted herself so the Doctor could hear the rustling of fabric in his crib and the gentle suckling of his hands just before he released a shrill wail.

Then came the shocked gasp Clara exhaled almost simultaneously, a disoriented, "I'm up, I'm up," muddled by the sheets of her own bed being thrown back to stand and retrieve the boy who called her.

Smiling as his eyes closed, the Doctor listened as she spoke quietly to the child, now hungrily at her breast as she made her way back into bed to sit and watch him. Clara loved to watch him. She could stand at the edge of his crib for hours – body swaying from lack of sleep, eyes drooping lazily – just smiling down at Aurelius as he dreamt away time. She loved to see those eyes, still milky and unfocused, open up to peer at her curiously as he decided whether he should complain or remain neutral.

"Wish I could talk to mum now," he heard Clara utter, "Ask her if she felt as strange, feeding me as a baby, because this isn't like your father's playful nips. This is _quite_ strange." Her giggle was soft, amused, and he turned from the console towards the corridor that lead to their room, leaning into the doorway to look in on them.

Aurelius' cheeks shifted quickly a moment and then stopped, and the Doctor sighed at the exhale the boy offered before continuing his meal. His left hand lay over Clara's bosom, tiny fingers flexing against her skin before relaxing and then gripping, pushing at the flesh as she laughed. The boy jerked at the sudden sound and unlatched, eyes finding hers to stare up at her in a sort of shock as she continued to chuckle softly.

"He treats my breasts as a cow's udder sometimes, as though he can knead more milk out of it," Clara told him, eyes not leaving her sons as she pulled her knees up slightly to lay him against her thighs, "It's amusing, and a bit frightening considering he'll only get bigger and stronger and the goal is a year of this."

The Doctor moved towards the bed leisurely, sitting beside her knees to tell her, "I suppose it will become less amusing when he begins teething."

He watched her smile fade as her eyes glazed over, considering the notion before looking down at the boy studying her. Clara remained silent as Aurelius laid there calmly, belly filled with his mother's milk; hearts calmed by his mother's face, and then she told the Doctor quietly, "He's a week old now." Her eyes came up, rimmed with unshed tears, "Doctor, this is time. This is how time passes now. So quickly, right before our eyes."

"Clara," he sighed, standing and twisting to sit nearer to her, arm coming up around her shoulder, stopping her words as Aurelius squirmed – his discomfort as his mother's panic evident – and he assured, "This is how time should pass, us reveling in its fleeting nature. Us trying not to miss a moment of it."

She nodded, then smiled back at their son, "I've thought of it so often, Doctor, how quickly the time will run from me; how soon it'll seem in the end it'll have been taken from me. I've thought already on my end and how he'll continue on, so much longer than any child should be without their mother..." her eyes met his as he shook his head, silencing her again.

"You will love him and know him and give him his best chance for a wonderful life, Clara. That is all you should concern yourself with for the rest of your days, however few, or however many, you're given." He turned his attention to the boy staring up at her, the boy who shifted slightly to peer at him.

The Doctor touched his cheek with a finger, then laid his knuckles to the boy's chest, feeling the steady beats of both of his hearts. He smiled, remembering the way the medical personnel at UNIT had told him firmly they were both good strong healthy hearts. The way Kate had lifted him up into her careful arms, all of her professional rigidity melting away to tell him confidently, "Three kilograms of perfection." The long breath Osgood had taken off her inhaler before congratulating them nervously.

Aurelius offered a long blink of his large inquisitive eyes and the Doctor felt an inkling of something. It tickled the back of his mind and tugged at his hearts, wetting his eyes with a joy he hadn't felt in too long. The boy hadn't the words yet to express how he was feeling, but he had that tether to him, one he was utilizing then to express his admiration of him.

 _Father_.

He felt it, rather than heard it. A warmth travelling through his veins, drumming up from those tiny hearts underneath his fingertips. It gripped at him and soothed him and he smiled down at the baby staring into him. Aurelius was asking for a promise from him, he understood. A promise to love like he'd never loved before; one he felt he'd already fulfilled, looking into the calm round face that watched him. The Doctor nodded and bent to kiss the soft forehead that wrinkled underneath his lips and he listened to Clara's laughter as the small mouth gnawed lightly around the edge of his chin in an attempt to suckle.

"Aurelius, I thought we were having a moment," he breathed, shifting back.

Clara raised a hand to run along the Doctor's jaw before she settled it onto the boy's chest as he took a deep breath and looked back to her. He envied her, as they sat in the quiet of the night, because he could see that as much as Aurelius loved him as his father, he was enraptured by Clara. His mouth moved slowly, sounds emerging awkwardly in his new voice, for her. It was a soft voice, a gentle one that carried a careful message to the woman who held him.

 _You are my time, forever in memories and stardust in my hearts_.

She nuzzled his nose with her own and he let out a happy squeak as she pecked tender kisses to his cheeks before inching away to look at him again. Aurie sighed, and then his skin broke out in a dazzling glow. The Doctor touched Clara's hand, nodding to her confused glance and looking to the boy who reached for her, arms uncoordinated through the swirls of regeneration energy he emitted.

 _Mother_.

The word came with a swell of emotions from his mind. And he saw them echoed in Clara as she took their son's desperate hands into hers, settling her thumbs within his grasp in each. The Doctor could see she was speaking, but her words were for her son only, and he watched her kiss the boy's knuckles before shifting her palms underneath his arms to lift him up and cradle him into her chest, lips settled delicately to the top of his head.

Golden sparkles flowed between them and the Doctor wasn't sure whether he should be concerned or relieved by it. What was his son doing? Did he even know? Would this have repercussions beyond their understanding? Was it simply a show of his attachment to his mother? He began to speak Clara's name, but just as he did, the glow of that energy seeped into their flesh where it hovered and went out. She looked to him then, all of those same questions in her eyes, and he merely shrugged.

And then Aurelius hummed.

A simple sentence that brought an easy chuckle to the Doctor's throat as Clara asked, "What? What's he said to me?" He could hear the hesitant frustration in her voice, and he shook his head, looking to the boy now drifting into an easy sleep against his mother. Listening to her heartbeat, a sound that would always comfort him, Aurelius was peaceful, and the Doctor smiled to him, nodding before looking to Clara.

"He's protecting you against your fears, Clara," he breathed, not daring to disturb the baby sleeping in her arms in spite of his need to caress his wonderful boy. "Gave you a bit of the regeneration energy he has, being conceived aboard the Tardis while travelling in the Time Vortex."

She contemplated his words a moment before asking quietly, "Am I going to regenerate?"

The Doctor shook his head and offered, "Doubtful, it's not in your genetic makeup. But there really is no way of knowing just how much he gave you, or what it will mean for you," he then added solemnly, "Or for him."

"Because we don't know how much he was born with, given that the council didn't offer it to him as some graduation gift for not going insane at Time Lord school," Clara prompted with a hint of sarcasm.

He sighed, and then nodded, because it was partly true. They didn't know. He could have had only one extra lifetime, shared now with his mother, or he could have been birthed with a hundred. He looked to a single swirl of barely glowing embers just beside Aurelius' forehead at Clara's chest, watching them sit there a moment before disappearing as she took a long breath.

"He gave up a bit of his life for me then, because of what I said," she uttered sadly.

He met her eyes and affirmed, "Clara, it won't harm him."

"We don't know that," she responded swiftly, "Said so yourself."

Shrugging, he looked over the baby she held, mouth puckered, cheek squished against Clara's flesh. The Doctor watched him take several small breaths, knowing he was deep enough in his sleep already to be dreaming and he smiled, wondering just what the boy would dream now. He was forming his own memories and no longer needed to borrow them from his mother. He'd seen the stars, had stared out at the so intently, the Doctor imagined he understood what they meant, even if he couldn't separate out a single one in his new vision.

"Doctor," Clara sighed, "I don't want you to make sacrifices for me."

He turned to look at her as she held a palm to the boy's back, thumb stroking lovingly. "Clara?"

"Aurie is only a week old, and just feeling that I was frightened of losing time with him because I'm human, he gave up a bit of his life to keep me longer," she uttered before repeating, "Promise me you to make sacrifices for me."

He looked to her tired features, the slow breaths she took, that single silver hair that he hadn't mentioned peeking out from within a cascade of browns. If he thought hard enough on it, he could remember how much younger she'd been, just a few years ago, before all of the travelling and the pain she'd endured. Her voice had been lighter; her eyes held less sadness. Frowning, he looked to the boy she held, knowing how the years would pass for her, knowing they'd pass just as they did for any human being. But with them, with the dangers that lurked around every turn in a corridor...

The Doctor knew her meaning well and he leaned in to kiss her temple, arm tightening its hold on her shoulder as he nudged her with his forehead, nodding against her, telling her quietly, "Aurelius has asked me to promise him to be the best father I can be, and now you ask me not to by giving up the opportunity to extend your life if I had the opportunity to by giving up a bit of my own." He took a long breath of her scent, eyes closing against the dead silence in the Tardis then, the ominous way it stood still. "There's only one promise I can keep, Clara, and you know which it is."


	15. Hearts to Hearts

Looking in at the wiggling infant, small lips pouted in the precursor to a wobbly newborn cry, the Doctor couldn't help but offer a smile as he reached in to wrap his hands around his son and lift him up against his chest. He breathed a soft laugh, feeling the restless limbs struggle against their lack of coordination as he bounced him gently, exiting the space to walk along the corridor towards the door to what soon would become the boy's bedroom.

He placed him on the changing station built into the crib, telling him quietly, "Let's handle this so mummy can sleep a bit longer, eh, Aurelius?"

Yawning in reply, he stared up at him with sleepy eyes as the Doctor worked the elastic on the bottom of his little blue gown carefully up over belly. The boy lay still as he pulled back the sides of his nappie, working swiftly to clean him to avoid the risk of 'leaks' that might soil his jumper.

"I'm quite fond of this one," he told his son, gesturing at the starry pattern that adorned the black at his chest, "Your mother found it for me last Christmas – it comes with the memory of her satisfied smile, knowing she'd chosen the right one for her old man."

He coo'd up at the Doctor, " _Her smile startles my hearts and eases my mind_."

"Same," the Doctor told him honestly with a lifting of his brow.

The Doctor grinned as he secured a new nappie, afterwards settling his hands at the boy's sides, thumbs brushing over his little thighs before he bent to kiss at the pale stomach half exposed before him. Aurelius was soft in a way the Doctor found fascinating; the new skin of a new life, nourished entirely by his mother's milk. The remnants of his umbilical cord sat dark and shriveled, just a tiny stump that would soon drop away, and he sighed, knowing Clara would cry when it happened.

"The last bit of that connection between you and your mother," the Doctor offered, gesturing at it before shifting his gown back down to his ankles.

" _Her and I will always be one, just as space is, no matter the celestial bits between,_ " Aurelius informed him strongly, brow drifting down over his lightening eyes.

On a nod, the Doctor lifted him up, telling him softly, "I'll miss your poetry when the babble of men infiltrates your mind to break your tongue."

Aurelius exhaled in response, as if to blow away the offensive words.

The Doctor carried him through the corridors and onto the console, pressing at buttons and swinging a lever here and there, passing glances at the boy half asleep along his left arm. Who would his son grow to be amongst the influences of their travels? Would he be a boy afraid of the monsters underneath his bed? Would he be the adolescent who runs from the complexities of the vortex? Would he be the man who leaves his past behind him to dash towards an unknown future in a stolen Tardis.

"Nah," the Doctor laughed, "Those were all me." He's not asleep, as he might have thought, but studying the stars that wrapped around his jumper, focusing his eyes as best he could on those bright spots amongst the dark fabric. "You'll be a boy who holds his hand out towards those in need. The adolescent who rises to the challenges before him. The man who stays," he whispered.

" _Those are all you as well_ ," Aurelius sighed, eyes turning to him.

"Ah, yes," he stated quietly. "I suppose." He smiled to the turning cogs atop the time rotor, watching them continue to spin slowly as they drifted. The engine keeping them afloat in a universe that pulled at them from every direction, he considered. He watched his son as they moved towards the doors, opening them slowly to look out at the stars.

They were a good way out from any inhabitable planet, and far from the trade routes that would cross them with the ships of strangers the Doctor didn't have an inclination to meddle with just then. Just a bit of quite, he'd asked the Tardis, for just a little while. Aurelius, he argued, was far too new and far too precious to be in deliberate harm's way and, the Doctor knew, that's what their travels would inevitably do. She'd done a good job keeping them safe, and the Doctor knew it was the beats of those two tiny hearts that had granted him a temporary reprieve from her disobeying his coordinates.

Looking out at the stars that sparkled all around them, he sighed with relief, knowing the weight in his arm and that sliver of warmth against his chest, was safe in spite of him. Growing stronger with each turn of his Earthly sun, so very far away, but still entirely fragile. The Doctor sighed as he passed a glance at the boy who had turned his attention to the space above him, eyes locked in a concentrated stare out at the darkness of the universe and the stars that speckled it.

"Every day they grow clearer to you," The Doctor said. "Believe it or not, your entire life will consist of a continual cycle of things being muddled, then becoming clear, then becoming muddled again. It's a process we call learning, and I implore you to remain vigilant in this cycle – it may one day save your life."

He laughed softly, watching the eyes that shifted slightly.

"You're going to see so very much, my son, and I'm sorry that not all of it is going to be like this," he gestured out, "Not everything will be the peaceful expanse of space, limitless in its hopeful potential. I suppose it's our duty to try and spread that hope – that _potential_ – as far and as wide as we can. Remind people that not everything will be terrible all of the time."

Head tilting, he watched the boy make faces a moment. He'd been working at those muscles every waking hour – he supposed because of his mother's expressive antics and their never-ending conversation. An almost-smile flashed across his features before it melted into contemplation again. Only a few weeks of life and it had been magnificent, albeit somewhat smelly. The Doctor shifted Aurelius to cradle in both arms, and he watched those eyes widen in momentary shock at the sudden movement.

"You looked just like your mother then," he admitted, "When she finds I've withheld something from her, just before she socks me." He chuckled, "Oh, if you look the way we've seen you in dreams; if you grow to be how you were in those dreams. You'll have so much of her in you, Aurelius; you'll have her heart, her bravery – a grand gift to this universe, indeed."

" _Your gift too, a blanket of wonder and healing, ever growing stitch by stitch by your careful hands_."

"They aren't very careful hands so much of the time, I'll have to admit," he told the child. "They're dangerous hands, exuberant hands, firm hands, oft-times arrogantly confident hands." The Doctor watched his son's lips tweak up into a fleeting, almost knowing smirk. "They can be careful hands; they _will be_ careful hands."

Aurelius inhaled sharply and the Doctor glanced up in time to watch a star shoot across the sky, or fall out of it he supposed, and he wondered at the boy's connection to that space around them. He would be different from those of his kind – the Doctor had felt it from the moment he'd first felt his presence – and he would be different from his mother's kind.

Something new and grand.

Something better.

Something, the Doctor understood, potentially dangerous. He looked into the round innocent face that stared back at him, knowing his hands would have to be careful indeed because the life he held was as unpredictable as anything else in the universe. Just as any new child born. A clean slate that would, as he'd said before, become infiltrated by the babble of men as he grew older.

"Your mother and I have a very important duty of care now, Aurelius, to ensure you remain the brightest star, uncorrupted by the evils that will tempt you one day," he explained, brow dropping as he watched his son continue looking out into those stars. "It burdens me to know you will be, but let that burden be my strength throughout the length of our days together."

His blue eyes turned to look upon him, studying his face while working his cheeks and mouth silently. The Doctor knew he could sense his worry, his own light brow had fallen with the sadness in his hearts that his father was troubled. So the Doctor smiled for Aurelius and kissed that delicate space at the top of his head, shifting back to see the look of calm that had settled itself into those gentle features. Aurelius popped his lips and lifted his fingers to gnaw and the Doctor laughed, reveling in the hum of his son's response as he closed the doors to head back towards Clara, knowing the boy was in need of a feeding.

 _"_ _Mummy is your strength, we are the absence of burden, daddy, only promise_."


	16. Love in Any Language

Clara was pacing across the left side of the console, humming something vaguely familiar while keeping a steady bounce to her step, infant at her shoulder bobbing along as he listened. Aurelius's eyes were wide open, bright blue, and staring out at the Tardis interior walls. He had no interest in nodding off, as Clara continually hoped, and the Doctor smiled as he fiddled with a knob and dropped his brow, keeping his gaze focused on them as Clara did another turn and continued walking.

He could see she was frustrated more than exhausted, hand patting the baby's back, lips set in an awkward half-frown, dimple prominently exuding almost a secondary wave of irritation at the little boy's insistence on remaining awake. They'd been at this for an hour now and the Doctor could see she was losing patience. He might have laughed, except he knew he'd receive a scowl or a quick punch to the shoulder – or she'd cry, as she'd been emotional as of late – so he played at the controls, awaiting the moment she'd hand over pacing duties to slump into one of the side chairs to groan.

And then Clara stopped mid-step and called out pathetically, "Aurie, please!"

The baby blinked his eyes up at the time rotor and sighed.

"He's not tired," the Doctor allowed.

"I hate that," Clara grumbled. "I hate that you can understand him and I can't."

"Clara."

"No, it's not fair. He's my son too," she whined, hand coming up to gesture at the Doctor before landing firmly against the child's back again, head tilting as she gave him sad eyes, brimming with tears.

The Doctor pushed off the console and he moved towards her, knuckles brushing her left cheek before he palmed it to whisper gently, "Clara, he didn't tell me." He laughed at the confusion in her eye before exclaiming with an open hand at the child, "Look at him, he's wide awake."

For a moment she stood still, staring at him, and then she turned and took two steps away, arguing at the railing as she wilted in defeat, "Oh God, he has your sleep cycle." And then she added weakly, "I'm never getting sleep again."

Aurelius was watching his father over her shoulder, big eyes focused intently as his mother calmed herself, and the Doctor could have sworn he saw the boy smile just before Clara turned with an exasperated breath. Her mind was working over a thousand scenarios, he knew, in which she would be hindered by her need for sleep versus their son's lack of need. The Doctor reached and lifted his son into his arms carefully, turning him against his chest so that the boy could watch his mother as she dug her fingers into the edges of her hair. Aurelius coo'd at her quietly, just a simple hum of a single note.

 _I'm sorry, mummy, my mind is too busy weaving wondrous thoughts_.

The Doctor chuckled, but before he could translate, Clara uttered, "I know, Aurie, I know."

Hands falling away, she stared at the space in front of her as the Doctor waited, brow dropping in contemplation as she turned slowly to look at the boy he held – the one smirking and staring back at her. He watched Clara slowly approach them, offering their son a reassuring smile as she considered the notion that she'd understood him. Perhaps she'd been too tired and too frazzled over caring for him the past month to truly listen, but she'd heard his intentions clearly then.

 _You should rest, mummy_.

"How can I when now _my_ mind is too busy weaving wondrous thoughts, my beautiful boy," she exclaimed, voice thick with oncoming tears. The Doctor sighed, there had been so many tears. Hormones, she'd told him, excusing herself one night from a sunset on some distant planet. Except now he knew it wasn't that – it was merely joy, he could see it in her eyes as she looked her son over before pulling him back into her embrace to walk off through an archway into a corridor.

The Doctor exhaled and turned to the console, listening to the Tardis beep at him a few times before he pointed up at the time rotor with a lifting of one brow to utter, "Hush."

The cloister bell rang once and then she went silent as he poked at buttons, swinging them further into the past towards a new Earth. He wanted to take her to see a meteor shower through the pristine atmosphere that existed before men emerged into the evolutionary chain. Bowing his head, he closed his eyes, wondering whether their son would appreciate it yet; whether he would understand what he was seeing, or merely catalogue it into a memory that would fade as he aged.

Would Aurelius now excitedly tell his mother how he felt about all of the things he saw, knowing she could understand him. Leaning into the console, clasped hands pressed unceremoniously into his left cheek, he let out another rough breath, wondering whether the revelation would knock him down another peg in his son's mind. His mother held his attention so thoroughly, he knew, closing his eyes to consider his own memories. The boy with the brightest eyes, focused solely on the woman who birthed him.

"It doesn't make you lesser," Clara offered quietly, stepping towards him, fingers twisted into each other as he straightened to take her in. She seemed uncertain, nervous even, and hesitant, and he smiled, raising an arm to usher her towards him.

"Has he finally gone down?" He asked her.

On a long sigh, she offered, "He's not going down any time soon, we both know that, but he's going to learn to entertain himself since he doesn't need sleep." She wrapped an arm around him and leaned her head into his chest. "He's in his crib with his mobile going, having conversations with the hanging stars about us."

"And now you can hear him," the Doctor supplied.

"I don't know why I hadn't before," she laughed, head shaking against him.

He merely nodded.

Feeling her eyes on him, he looked to her and he smiled just enough to lift the edges of her own mouth, but then she repeated, "It doesn't make you lesser, I know that's what you're thinking." Clara's head tilted back, examining his reaction to her words, the little bend in his body at the notion that she was entirely wrong, "Us both being able to understand him doesn't take away from your relationship to him – it just makes my job easier."

"He loves you so entirely. And I understand it's not exclusive," the Doctor breathed, head bowing as he touched his chest in two spots, "I can feel that it's not, but..."

She patted his stomach lightly, leaving her hand settled there, "You thought you'd have that one-up on me, Doctor, admit it."

He laughed with her.

"Think of all the things you'll be able to enjoy together while I'm curled up in bed, sleeping away the hours in this human body," she told him firmly. "Think of all the trouble you'll get into," she added seriously before chuckling with him.

The Doctor rubbed her shoulder, listening to the Tardis beep her approval, "I suppose you're right," the Tardis bonged loudly, "You're both right," he groaned as Clara reached to give the console an approving set of pets before hugging him tightly.

He held Clara tightly, feeling her breaths against him as he pondered the baby in the other room and how he'd even made it possible for his human mother to understand. Perhaps that had been the gift his regeneration energy had offered – perhaps, he considered, staring up at the time rotor, slowing to a calm spin. Or perhaps something infinitely grander. He looked to Clara, nestled against him, a small smile on her tired face.

"What has he told those stars of us?" He asked quietly.

Her giggle rattled him delightfully as she began, "He told the stars how he loved them so because they remind him of your eyes..."


	17. A Place Between the Stars

The baby lying calmly before the Doctor was sucking his thumb and staring off at a stuffed animal a foot to his right, giving an occasional sigh. He'd been laid delicately atop a thick quilt by an exhausted mother, and left in the care of the attentive father now sprawled out on alongside him. And they had been on the floor of that meticulously cleaned living room, in a status quo, for over half an hour, both seemingly at a loss for what to do with their current predicament.

"He might get fussy," Clara had warned, but the Doctor saw no signs of resentment in the boy peacefully observing his elephant, not even for the fact that it was a pastel shade of green as opposed to its natural grey. Aurelius sucked diligently at his thin little thumb and his light eyes blinked every so often. Tranquil, the Doctor might say; quite the opposite of fussy.

Plucking up the elephant, the Doctor grumbled quietly, "I don't believe we're utilizing this time in the way your mother intended."

There came a muted popping sound as the thumb was released and laid down to join Aurie's other fingers in scratching anxiously at the quilt, a move that made the Doctor wonder if he could inherit a twinge of the anxiety his mother often had that left her fidgeting with her fingers. He uttered a tiny moan of frustration and the Doctor settled the toy just out of reach, at a spot over his son's head, forcing him to begin lifting his eyes in search of his missing friend. He let out the smallest of cries, a noise that broke the Doctor's hearts, and then he turned his head, nose rubbing into the quilt as his hands wavered on either side of his wriggling body.

He lifted his eyes to the stuffed animal as his mouth pressed into the pattern of red and yellow swirls underneath him, murmuring nothing the Doctor could decipher, before he lifted his head fully to stare in a sort of wonder. Less than two seconds later, his head dropped back down and he began to moan his disgust at the change in his settings. He whimpered and lifted his head again, falling into silence as he found the green figure he sought before his head dropped. The Doctor winced when the boy let out a series of arguments against the perceived mistreatment, including a well-placed curse he'd heard his mother use too many times.

Fussy, he thought to himself.

Aurelius picked his head up again and hummed, and then dropped it and cried.

 _I am too weak, daddy. Help me._

The Doctor clenched his teeth painfully, his jaw screaming in protest that echoed around and through his skull as he watched the boy pitifully try and try again to locate the friend who'd become a near constant companion through his short life. Aurie slapped at the quilt and his legs pumped, and he looked to the elephant, lips settled in a pouted frown as his eyes reddened.

"How could she leave me to watch you suffer so," the Doctor uttered softly, but he didn't budge from his spot, knowing it was intentional. "Without this suffering, your muscles will never develop in the way they need so you can hold your head up high as you make your way through life." He frowned, watching his boy drop his head again and whimper. "Without the strengthening, how can we be confident as parents that you'll be able to make your way at all? The suffering, Aurelius, the suffering is sometimes necessary for the growth you need to survive."

Lifting his head up, tears now trembling at the edges of his eyes, Aurie let out a shriek of annoyance before letting his forehead press roughly into the quilt again.

 _Want Effant_!

Checking his watch, the Doctor looked to the hallway and then back at the baby moaning as he struggled on the ground before him. Exhaling roughly, the Doctor swung his legs around deftly, crossing them together to sit as he brought his son up into his chest, giving his body a pat before he began a gentle bounce to sooth the boy. Aurie took a ragged breath and then hummed, head lying calmly against his father's chest.

 _Thank you, daddy_.

"Your mummy is going to be cross with me," he uttered to the child.

 _No, mummy's heart sings a sad song, hearing my cries._

The Doctor chuckled, hearing the soft footsteps approaching from down the hall. "She'll still be cross," he uttered softly before pressing a kiss to the boy's temple.

Clara stopped just at the entrance to the living room and leaned against the wall, watching them, and the Doctor wondered what fluttered across her mind in this moments. He wished he could read her thoughts. Her disappointment at his inability to let their son struggle through an allotted time on his stomach; her sadness at having to leave her son in the care of others while she slept; her adoration at watching her son and his father, wrapped up together in a comforting embrace. The Doctor smiled as he looked up to meet the moistened eyes that smiled down at them, and he sighed with her before shrugging, listening to her laugh as he turned his vision back to his son.

"It's not any easier when I do it during the day, either," she explained, coming to cross her legs and sit on the ground beside them, leaning into his side to melt into it. Her cheek rested against his shoulder and her arms wrapped readily around his left and she watched Aurie as his thumb found his mouth and he sucked away happily.

The Doctor listened to their heartbeats thumping away calmly, and he watched the boy pull his hand away to reach for Clara, giving the hint of a smirk when she kissed at the tips of his fingers. "Life is a never-ending cycle of pain and achievement, it seems. Sometimes it feels like torture, unnecessary torture."

"It's Tummy Time, Doctor," Clara teased, "It's not the end of the world."

He looked to the wall across from them, the one adorned with shelves upon shelves of books and trinkets from Clara's Earthly life with Aurie. The one he stepped into more and more lately, just as they'd seeped themselves deeper and deeper into the Tardis. Fingers that had spent so long dancing at the edge of the other, stealing gentle caresses through time until they closed in enough to begin to intertwine. The Doctor wondered just how entrenched they could become, whether they could continue the pattern at all.

Clearing her throat, Clara prompted, "Tell me."

"You always know."

"You always stare through walls when you think too hard, one day I fear you'll really bore a hole through mine and I assure you, our neighbors aren't the sort you want to see in their knickers."

He laughed easily and turned to lean his chin into her temple, eyes closing at the warmth of it just as he reveled in the feel of his sons squirming body against his chest. "All of these Earthly things for a child not of this Earth…" he began quietly. His voice stopped and he remained silent for far too long before allowing, "I'm afraid, Clara."

"A boy whose mother comes from Earth and whose father comes from the stars. How _could_ we manage to live equally in both worlds," she told him matter-of-factly.

"You always know," he repeated gently.

Her hands reached for the baby he held and she plucked him into the air, eliciting an excited set of squeaks from their son. No words, merely the glee of a child for his mother, and the Doctor leaned his palm into the carpeting at his side, watching her lift him into the air carefully before bringing him close to her face to nuzzle his nose with her own. These were moments his mind would relive for years. The stillness of the night and the warm glow of a lamp painting his family golden before him as his hearts thudded in his chest, ready to burst over the love he felt for them.

"I suppose," he sighed as she cradled Aurie, "We keep ourselves balanced."

"And thankful," Clara added, lifting her right brow to him before looking back to the boy at her chest, "He has a home on Earth and a home on every star in the universe." She smiled for her son and the Doctor could see her mind working. Oh, the wonderful man you'll be, he knew she was thinking. Clara kissed at his forehead and Aurie hummed in response.

 _Home exists between my stars_.

Chuckling, Clara nodded against him, telling him softly, "Too right you are, Aurie."

"Too right you are," the Doctor agreed.


	18. Steal a Few Moments For Us

Aurelius was asleep. An occurrence the Doctor knew would happen less and less as he got older. Smiling down at the infant lying on his back – small lips set in a pout that occasionally puckered or offered the hint of a grin; eyes closed and shifting casually, lost to his dreams – the Doctor let loose a soft sigh. His boy's cheeks had rounded considerably and the strands of hair on his head had thickened into a dark covering of locks that showed just the hint of a curl at their ends.

He contemplated the time that had passed since his birth, about how quickly it seemed to have passed and he understood Clara's occasional lament over how each moment should be cherished because they'd be gone all too soon, never to be relived. Aurelius had gained strength and focus and an open-mouthed smile that wet his eyes whenever the Doctor knew he had inspired it. His son adored the waggle of his eyebrows and gaped happily at him when he frowned comically in his direction.

 _His son_ , he thought with a swell of pride.

Gripping the edge of the crib in which the boy lay, the Doctor didn't dare disturb his sleep, knowing it soothed the heart of the woman creeping in behind him. He could almost hear those beats slow at the sight of her child, resting peacefully under the watchful gaze of his father. There came the soft hum of laughter she restrained for fear of waking Aurelius, and her hands slipped easily around the Doctor to hold him as she ducked under his rising arm, nestling herself into his side.

 _His wife_ , he assured himself as the tension melted from his bones.

They turned together, under her guidance, and he offered a small noise of confusion just as they reached the entranceway, feeling the fingertips of her right hand making small circles at his side. Clara merely chuckled in response, leading him towards their bedroom to close the door behind them and shift around to meet his questioning stare. She inched up carefully to press her lips to his, inhaling him as she did and taking his breath away in the process. It always surprised him, how her affection sent the blood rushing through him in a dizzying whirlwind along his veins while his hearts trembled as though filled with trepidation and adoration all the same.

Clara Oswald, he pondered as he deepened the kiss; the woman who'd offered him her life, and then her love, and then bore him a child – none things he thought he deserved anymore. And yet there she stood, slowly stripping the clothes off each of them as he lost himself to her sweetness, a powerful aphrodisiac enhancing his senses as they stood bare before each other. She gave him a small nod of encouragement when he hesitated, knowing her human body needed recovery time after the rigors of childbirth, and then she smiled, taking a step into him with a desperate barely audible whimper.

He bent instantly, tasting at her skin, lips trailing along her shoulder and up her neck, eliciting a purr as he reached a spot just behind her ear while she handled his manhood carefully, teasing at him while he caressed her breasts. They were swollen and delicate, and he brushed his thumbs lightly over her nipples, listening to her exhale as the gooseflesh rose over her body. He could hear those breaths growing more ragged as they fell into the bed and she mounted his chest, dropping her mouth over him as he massaged at her backside.

The Doctor could feel her wetness against his skin and his eyes closed as she continued to work at him, readying him for her easily. His breath caught when she sat up straight, and he looked to see her turned slightly, giving him a delightfully playful look that might have made him laugh under any other circumstances, but now it served to ignite a fire in his loins he hadn't known had been building for months and he gripped her waist as he shifted her forward to climb out from underneath her, leaving her bent on her knees.

Teasing him like a cat in heat, he knew.

Left palm settled lightly against her spine, he guided himself into her warmth, releasing a moan as he folded over her to kiss at her flesh, holding her sides and slowly filling her until she exhaled with a satisfaction that oddly comforted him. Her hands reached out to grip at the bedding, fingers strangling the fabric as she buried her forehead into it, panting in tandem with him as he moved, feeling the pressure building between their bodies until he pulled away and she turned to fall on her back, legs parting for him to descend into her.

The Doctor settled himself atop her, arms curled underneath hers to cradle her head, eyes closing as she took long ragged breaths, inching up on her elbows to lightly dot his face with kisses. One for his right cheek, and then his right jaw and then his chin and his left jaw and his left cheek and his nose and he bowed slightly, listening to the giggle she gave just before she kissed at his forehead and dropped back to the bed, feet curling around his back to urge his movements to begin anew. Her hands roamed his chest as he remained still a moment, reveling in the feel of being wrapped around her, and wrapped by her so thoroughly. Then his hips dipped and he slid deeper into her, listening to her throaty laugh before silencing her with a gentle kiss. He teased at her tongue with his own and he shivered as her fingernails lightly circled over the skin at his sides, and then he ended the kiss to look at her.

Clara smiled for him, a sleepy smile; a calm smile. A smile that slowed his thundering hearts as he leisurely began shifting again, watching her eyes close, enjoying the feel of him within her. Their last had been so recently, he knew, and yet so long ago – before Aurelius had come into their lives. He'd almost forgotten what it had felt like, lost in the warmth of her folds, skin sticking slightly to his, their bodies giving off that hint of a scent of sweat and sex they'd mocked once on some alien planet, curled up in each other's arms in a grassy bed in a rudimentary hut.

But he hadn't forgotten the way her fingers felt, kneading lightly into his flesh, or the way her hair looked, splayed over disheveled sheets, or the glow to her skin, or the change in her breathing as she drew closer to her climax. The way it sent jolts of electricity through his body with the need to meet her there. The Doctor hadn't forgotten the way it had made him feel complete in a way he hadn't felt in such a long time; the way his mind cleared so thoroughly as he watched her writhe in pleasure; the way his body bowed to offer it to her.

He shouted out when he felt his release; hearing her sing her own against his ear as he bent into her, body instinctually driving deeper as her muscles milked him. His breaths were hot, bouncing off the bed beside her left ear to moisten his face as he caught his breath, listening to her quiet laughter as she stroked at his backside with her right foot, toes curling slightly into his skin to tickle him. He took a long breath and laughed with her, lifting himself carefully to run his hands over her forehead and down over the sides of her head, kissing her lips several times over as her climax subsided.

There would never come a proper way to express to her how he felt in those moments. How safe he felt, intertwined with her; how loved he felt, gazing into her eyes; how tranquil he felt, knowing there were no longer doubts and questions between them. Those things were long gone, and those lessons were learned. The Doctor held Clara tightly and turned, taking her with him and laughing when she cried out in surprise and then dissolved into a fit of laughter herself when they came to a stop, her lying atop him, still one with him, breathing heavily as she shifted slightly to make herself comfortable. Her cheek lay pressed to his chest and she kissed him softly there as he ran his fingers through her hair and held her back firmly with his other hand.

In a few moments they would grow cold in their state of nakedness, and there would come a need to shower away the remnants of their union. The world would spin around back to normal: an alarm would sound, a message would come, their son would cry out in need of them. The Doctor sighed, feeling Clara's arms and legs wrap him snuggly and he closed his eyes to listen to her breaths, released soothingly over his skin, as if cocooning him from his thoughts and all of those coming distractions. He understood well how much she relished her time with him; how much she understood it would be fleeting, with him and their son.

The Doctor closed his eyes and reached to bring the bed sheets over them, nestling them away from the universe that stood knocking at the door of the Tardis, begging for their attention. He searched out their son's thoughts, feeling them at peace, and he held Clara to him, hoping to thief from time just a few moments more.


	19. A Tale of Metamorphosis

Though the notes of his son's voice delighted the Doctor's ears, they thumped heavily at his hearts, for the more they sounded aloud, the less they spoke to his mind, and he knew it would be too soon when the boy relied solely on that voice to communicate with them. He sighed, slumped on Clara's couch, listening to Aurelius hum and then let out a series of single syllables – a repeated ba-ba-ba that came with drool and a waving of his right hand as he wiggled about on the blanket Clara had laid down upon.

"Do you want to tell me," the woman asked calmly, "Or do you want me to guess?"

She settled herself at his side, shoulder molding comfortably into him, fingers of her right hand trailing down his jacket to thread themselves through his to hold him firmly. The Doctor smiled, giving her a small nod as he met her gaze, one that never failed to set his hearts on a new rhythm – whether thundering with fear, or bumping along at ease. He welcomed the way those eyes searched him, mind momentarily working over the time since he'd arrived; the way he'd been sitting on that couch watching their son with a sadness he knew she could no longer ignore.

Clara could sense when something was amiss with him. It was one of a million little things about her that made her absolutely perfect for him, he knew. How could he keep secrets from someone who would simply feel them out of him anyways – and knowing she would offered him an odd sense of relief. Though it'd taken him some time to get there, the Doctor knew she was someone he didn't need to lie to; someone he could trust with the complete truth.

Someone, he sighed as he gave her hand a squeeze, who could _understand_.

"He's beginning to speak," he told her quietly.

She laughed softly, resting her temple to his shoulder, "More and more each day."

"But he speaks less to me," the Doctor allowed, tapping at his temple with his free hand when she shifted to look up at him for clarity.

Nodding against him, she explained, "He speaks less to me too." Then she smiled; a small chuckle escaping as Aurie squealed out another string of nonsense. "But isn't that good, Doctor?"

He considered it, looking to their son lying before them, content to roll onto his stomach and seek out his toys before pumping his legs to inch himself forward in an awkward pre-cursor to crawling. "Every day he grows stronger; every day he grows older."

"Every day he advances, Doctor. He'll learn to crawl and speak and walk, then run." She snorted lightly, adding under her breath, "Use a toilet."

Laughing with her, the Doctor looked to the bright eyes that had turned in their direction at their sudden chorus of happiness. Aurie pressed his lips together tightly to smile, dimple deep in his pale plump cheek, eyes disappearing to the glee at hearing his parents laughter. The Doctor listened to him as he turned back to his toys, finding his elephant to screech at. He watched his boy tilt his head of dark hair before looking to the boy's mother who watched him serenely.

"Suppose the good news is both his parents are talkers, so I doubt he'll turn out the silent type," the Doctor teased, reveling in her hard laugh.

Aurie shifted, getting himself up on one knee to propel himself towards her, tumbling and falling onto his back to glare up at them in confusion.

 _Mummy!_

"Startled you, didn't I?" Clara whispered, reaching forward to pluck him up into her lap to hold, groaning when he immediately closed his eyes and searched for her nipple against the clothes she wore.

"My son knows what he wants," the Doctor quipped, watching her allow the boy to latch onto her left breast as she checked the time.

She shook her head against his words and then sighed to look to her son, feeding happily. "This month he starts on foods – not sure how much more of this I can tolerate." Clara winced and the Doctor leaned into her, pecking a delicate kiss to her temple that brought a smile back to her lips. He looked to Aurelius, raised a hand to stroke along the edge of his hair, just around his perfect little ear, before nudging his jaw lightly with his knuckles.

"We should take a trip tonight," the Doctor told her quietly, "Someplace where there's music he can hum along with, or maybe some place with lights in the night sky he can marvel at, or perhaps some place he might take his first taste of some exotic fruit."

He smiled at the satisfied look in Clara's eyes as she glanced up at him.

"You're hoping he'll talk to you – that it'll inspire him to tell you with our psychic connection all about the things he's experiencing for the first time," she guessed, smirking when he shrugged. "I think you'll enjoy when he can speak out loud far more than when he spoke so regularly in your head."

"Why should it make a difference?" The Doctor questioned curiously.

"It shouldn't, and I think that's why you're suffering," she gave him a small push with her shoulder before looking down at the baby she held, the one with their hearts held tightly within his tiny hands. "He's a bit like a caterpillar now, isn't he. Not quite the little babe I birthed in a school lounge, but not yet the little boy who'll pull on your coat with the name of a planet easily on his tongue. He's changing, Doctor, right before our eyes, and sometimes that requires a little pause until he learns how to grow up just right enough for us. And a little patience."

The Doctor nodded, then complained, "I miss his voice at all hours."

"I miss my breasts not being sore all the bloody time," she laughed.

Aurie dropped back slightly and took several long breaths, staring up at his parents. He smiled for them and the Doctor imagined he could read their thoughts if he wanted, though he might have been too exhausted from his playing or too full of his mother's milk, to try. The Doctor reached to tickle the boy who let out a vivacious giggle, mirroring the one his mother released, and he inched forward to kiss his boy gently, feeling the fingers that scratched at his face.

 _I will always speak to you, father; I know you will always listen._

"Yes," he whispered, inching back to watch his son smile, "I always will."


	20. Take Comfort in the Waters

They arrived to an excited crowd, eager to see the inhabitants of the blue box that had visited months before return. The Doctor emerged first, nodding towards the village elders for their approval to stay before grinning proudly and ushering Clara out, Aurie wide awake in her arms. He watched the little boy as he examined the green scaled skin of the villagers that surrounded him just before he let out a terrified cry and buried himself in his mother's shoulder.

Some seemed confused – mostly the younger Kalusians, unaccustomed to a human infant's wail – but most of the adults laughed off the greeting by the baby who looked so unlike their own. He was frightened, they understood, probably had never seen skin like theirs, and they hummed a lullaby the children joined in on, waiting for the baby Clara held. The Doctor waited as Aurelius quieted to listen, his plump lips puckered, shifting between anger and happiness for a few moments before he decided to lift his head.

Aurie smiled then, eyes now peering out at those who looked back at him, trying to comfort him with their music, and he let out a quick squeal of excitement before clapping his hands together and dropping his head back into Clara's collar. The Doctor could sense he'd relaxed, pointing shyly and mumbling at those still surrounding them, some still carrying their tune for him. Perhaps, the Doctor wondered, he remembered their song from the children who'd sung to him in utero.

Perhaps it was a universal language, the melodies of lullabies.

An elder approached him, asking softly, "How have you lived life since we've last met, Doctor?"

"Frustratingly calm," he answered with a chuckle, listening to the Kalusian join in.

Their son was seven months old and had grown stronger during his time on Earth and in their limited trips on the Tardis, but Clara was still unsure. The Doctor was equally nervous to take Aurelius – still so small and fragile – into the stars the way they used to. The little boy spent his days with his great grandmother, an old lady who read him outrageous fairy tales, fed him all sorts of nonsense Clara argued with her about, and randomly gave the Doctor's bum a mighty pinch.

He liked her, he knew she was where Clara got her spirit, and he hoped the old woman would help light that spark in Aurelius. But he also knew before they lit off into the universe unabashed, Aurelius needed to be strong enough to weather the travels safely. So for the moment they were homebound: Clara teaching by day while the Doctor zipped about alone, while at night they mostly took refuge in her little flat – moments the Doctor would cherish forever because they were as 'normal' as he knew life would ever be.

"What brings you back, Doctor?" The elder asked him quietly, breaking him out of his thoughts.

"Your people know a peace I want my son to know before he lays eyes on what awaits in the darkest corners of the universe. I want his foundation to be one of hope; hope I want him to understand exists all around him in the peoples he will encounter. With your permission," the Doctor gestured, "I'd like him to learn from you and your villagers. To know that in spite of the chaos, there exists tranquility."

Nodding slowly, the elder replied, "Tranquility must come from you and Clara. At this age, if he does not find it in you, he will not find it anywhere else you travel. That absence will harden his tender hearts far too soon and with little recourse." The elder looked him over, touching a finger to the lapel of his jacket, "Perhaps it is you who need to learn from us." He looked to Clara, near the water's edge, clothes already discarded into a pile along with Aurie's.

The elder laughed as he walked back towards the village, leaving the Doctor watching the woman who held his son up into the air to elicit a giggle before she brought him against her chest to begin walking into the water where the children were calling. Aurelius waved a hand at them and he let out a loud series of shrieks before turning to Clara to exclaim, "Mum!"

She told him something quietly, fingers stroking over his pale skin before she held his nose lightly and went under quickly, emerging to kiss her boy's face as he sputtered. He seemed shocked, staring into her uncertainly, but he mirrored her smile and then laughed, hand reaching out to splash at the water. Like a giant bath, the Doctor knew, and he knew his son loved his baths. Clara laughed at the boy who threw himself sideways, wanting desperately to immerse himself in those waters and the Doctor made his way tentatively to the edge.

Glancing back at the elder who had taken a seat beside an old woman, the Doctor shrugged out of his jacket and then pulled off his jumper and undershirt, holding them in his hands as he looked to the skin that now sat bare in this planet's gentle sun. He frowned, feeling the warmth coating him, and he dropped the clothes atop Clara's, hand coming to rest at his waist as he kicked off his shoes, looking out to see her smiling up at him.

"Ba-ba-ba-ba!" Aurelius reached up at him, calling him excitedly.

 _Come join us, father, the water is like mummy, a comfort wrapped around us._

He lifted a finger and raised one brow, seeing the children now watching him, curious about the traveller who stood, barefoot and apprehensive, in the dark sand. "Doctor," Clara shouted, "Come in before you blind us with your skin."

Dropping his trousers and pants, he toggled his finger at her, allowing himself a laugh to accompany hers as he began walking into the lagoon. Aurie was right, the Doctor considered. The waters seemed thicker than the waters on Earth or on Gallifrey, and they were warm, with a soft current that tickled his body as he moved deeper, very much like a blanket softly curling around every limb, circling his torso. It was soothing in a way he hadn't imagined it could be and he closed his eyes, dropping underneath the water to feel it encompass him entirely.

Looking out, he was surprised at the clarity. He could see Clara's body a few feet away, and he turned to look at the nesting pods of grass inside of which the eggs lay, growing until they were ready to hatch. He could also see the Kalusian children, pointing and singing a song of his pallor. A light in the water, they sang, moving to circle Clara, giggling, their bubbles floating up to tickle at Aurie's feet.

Lifting his head out of the water, the Doctor scowled at them when they surfaced, and they laughed and swam away as he swam towards Clara, standing in front of her to look down at her and Aurie. "They mocked my skin the first time too," she offered. "They're children."

"They should be taught manners," he replied grumpily.

"You are quite pale though," she teased, hand gripping into his arm before looking to her son, "Aurie, we'll make sure to travel to planets with suns, not just cold dark spaceships."

"Mumma," he stated, opening his mouth to press a wet kiss to her face.

The Doctor sighed and reached for him, bringing him up against his chest to hold, laughing when Aurelius laid down against him, arms trying to wrap him in a hug. He was already learning from his mother, the man knew, how to be affectionate in a way that was still difficult at times for him. His son would hug eagerly, and love readily and sometimes it would break his hearts, but the Doctor knew he'd be a better man than he'd ever been.

"A better man than your father, Aurie, that's the goal," he whispered.

Clara shifted into him, gripping his shoulders to pull herself out of the water to plant a solid kiss to his lips before nudging his nose with her own as their foreheads touched. "A better man than you would be quite a feat indeed."

The Doctor closed his eyes, sighing against their naked bodies, huddled together under a warm sun, bathed in the soothing waters of that alien planet. "He has a mother who will show him how."

"Doctor," Clara sang, opening her eyes as she sank back down slightly. "All of your self-doubt, I hate how it makes you not see just how wonderful you are." She kissed Aurie's back and the boy giggled, but snuggled into the Doctor's flesh, fingertips curling at his chest. "One day he'll tell you his secret," she explained, "One he tells me all of the time."

Feigning surprise, the Doctor asked, "Aurie, keeping secrets from me with your mum."

"Mummamumm," the boy responded lazily, giggling at the smile Clara aimed at him.

"It's a good one," Clara explained, "The reason we're here, really." She gave him a knowing glance before swimming away sighing, "You think he needs someone else to show him virtue."

He looked to his son, fingers digging softly at the few hairs on the Doctor's chest. "Try da-da-da," the Doctor stated. Aurie grinned up at him and he sank down into the warm waters, seeing the way his son's eyes calmed as he watched him curiously – the way Aurelius always did. He chuckled, asking him amorously, as he moved slowly through the waters, current swirling over his flesh, "Will I be the one to teach you how to be a good man, eh, son?" Aurie spread his palms over the Doctor's hearts and he murmured back softly.

 _Every day, you do, father_.


	21. That Which We Do Not Speak

They were drifting in the vortex peacefully, an exciting adventure behind them. The Doctor could still feel the past three days burning his muscles with aches and he laughed softly to himself as he walked through the maze of corridors that made up the Tardis interior – he hadn't felt this old in a very long time. He rubbed at his hands, worried the grease of working on the engines had lingered, and he sighed as he pushed at the sleeves of his dark jumper, reaching the door he'd been making his way towards.

Clara was just inside, curled around their son protectively, watching him sleep on their bed. A gentle smile was settled upon her lips as she stroked at the soft waves of brown hair atop the boy's head and then ran her knuckle along the stars that speckled the night sky of his little zip-up nightie. She should be asleep, he knew, because he knew the boy would wake all too soon and she'd be exhausted from the running and the fighting. He should remind her, he knew, but he watched her as she looked over their son instead.

Her mind relived the dangers and the wonder of the past seventy two hours, from the moment they stepped out into an arena of wildlife Aurelius had never laid eyes upon, to the moment they stumbled back in through those heavy doors, out of breath and laughing. Their son, a bustling bundle of babbles in his arms. They'd seen a lot worse, he knew, but he also knew she'd looked upon teeth that had dared to threaten her child and she'd suffered the bruises for the fight to keep him safe from them. And she thought, as she often did, whether or not _this_ life were worth the threat of death.

All of his companions had an epiphanous moment at some point in their run together.

When their human minds slowly calculated risks and imagined lifetimes.

Clara, infinitely so.

"Look at him," she offered softly. "Sleeping so soundly after all of that. Dreaming of chasing butterflies with his granddad – did you know he visits him in his dreams?"

The Doctor uttered a quiet, "Yes."

She chuckled, head giving a small nod of acceptance. "He's so very little, and yet so very brave, Doctor."

"He takes after his mum," he stated, watching her smile down at her boy, fingers wrapped delicately around his midsection.

Aurelius sighed in his sleep and the Doctor could see the corners of his mouth lifting slightly as he continued sleeping, entirely aware of his mother's protective presence at his side. It calmed him somewhat, that the boy seemed to sense her, turning towards her before she'd entered a room, or ostensibly searching through walls for her after she'd gone, following the trail of her as she moved. His hearts skipped, thinking about how dangerously close she's come to death, yet again.

 _Leave the dying to me_ , he wanted to tell her. Instead he steadied the beating in his chest and he leaned into the door frame, leisurely examining his wife and child. He knew what she would tell him, knew she would explain his regenerations weren't a _break-in-case-of-emergency_ solution to her potential death. She would remind him there were deaths he couldn't return from, but that he had more chance than herself of returning. The Doctor bowed his head knowing she'd weighed the odds of their lifetimes and she chose what was best for their son.

"He's been in the world as long as he was in the womb."

The words spread her melancholy through him like a poison.

"How long will he live?" She added softly, not for him to hear, but he heard it anyways.

He understood.

He understood _all too well_.

Pulling his jumper off and tossing it aside, he crawled into the bed beside Aurelius, bending to press his knees into Clara's while leaning into his palm, looking down at her, still concentrating on their boy. There were unshed tears in her eyes and he questioned whether this were some sort of delayed shock; he wondered just what the right words in that moment for her were. The Doctor needed her to know he felt her worry; he needed her to know...

Reaching to touch a set of cuts on her cheek, he sighed, "When you sleep, you whimper sometimes – lost in some nightmare I can't reach no matter how hard I try – and there are nights where I wish I could do as Aurelius does: walk right in to comfort you with an ill-timed joke, or an awkwardly too-long hug."

Clara shifted her gaze to him.

"When you sleep, I count the beats of your pulse against the skin of your neck and I ask myself how much longer do I get to see this magnificent creature live out her life with me before its cut short because she let me intertwine into it so thoroughly." He laid his head down to reach out for her, fingers slipping over her smooth skin to cup her cheek and watch her close her eyes as his thumb swiped at a tear. "When you sleep, I imagine a thousand lifetimes with you and I imagine a thousand ways those lifetimes could be taken from us and there are nights I find I mourn you while you're still here."

Eyes like the blackest holes stared sorrowfully as he gritted his teeth.

He looked to Aurelius, "How long will he live?" The Doctor covered Clara's hand on the boy's stomach with his left and he shook his head, "We don't ask ourselves such a question, Clara. We never ask the question because it allows for the possibility that he will end and he will not."

Smiling, she looked to the boy opening his eyes at them. The boy who gave them a gummy smile and called them quietly, voice still somewhere in his sleep. The Doctor watched her kiss her baby's forehead and he listened to his laughter. Aurelius reached to slap at their hands as his legs began to pump happily, waking to find himself nestled between his parents, but he stilled, looking from one to the other before gripping them both to sigh and close his eyes again, comfortable resting just a little bit longer with them.

"I love him so much," Clara told him quietly, voice cracking.

He rubbed at her cheek and leaned forward to meet her lips before pressing a kiss into their son's forehead, just as Clara had done. Sometimes he imagined their fears were compounded by their circumstances, but he knew deep down they were the same as all parents in a dangerous universe. Every so often, in the dead of night, a parent ponders the ugly notion that they might outlive their child and then they shake those thoughts away to replace them with hopes and dreams.

Aurelius Daniel Oswald, he often told himself, would live a grand and _endless_ life.

He smiled, fingers stroking gently at Clara's as he assured, "I love him just as much, and between you and I and our love is the safest place anyone could be."

Aurelius gave a small jump, a quick, "Mum, dada," escaping him clearly before he giggled.

Looking to Clara and then at their boy lying before them, the Doctor hoped she could see the serenity in his wide blue eyes knowing the truth in his father's words. He laughed with her as Aurelius uttered a series of gibberish syllables at them, a question for them that settled mischievous grins on all three members of their odd little family, floating out in time and space.

 _Where shall we go next_?


End file.
